■NCREDIBLE 
ADVENTURES 


ALGERNON  BLACKWOOD 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
RIVERSIDE 


INCREDIBLE    ADVENTURES 


MACMILLAN  AND  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  •  BOMBAY  ■  CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK    •    BOSTON    •    CHICAGO 
DALLAS    •    SAN    FRANCISCO 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


INCREDIBLE 
ADVENTURES 


BY 


ALGERNON    BLACKWOOD 

AUTHOR    OF    'jIMBO,'    'jOHN    SILENCE,' 
'THE    CENTAUR,'     *A    PRISONER    IN     FAIRYLAND,*    ETC. 


MACMILLAN    AND    CO.,    LIMITED 

ST.   MARTIN'S   STREET,   LONDON 

1914 


PU003 
L33153 


COPYRIGHT 


TO 


m\  s.*ik. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The   Regeneration  of  Lord   Ernie  ...  3 

The  Sacrifice        ...•••••        95 

The  Damned  .  .  •  •  •  •  •  •      I3I 

A  Descent  into  Egypt  ....  .241 

Wayfarers    .  .  .  •  •  •  •  •  -339 


Vll 


THE  REGENERATION  OF 
LORD  ERNIE 


B 


THE  REGENERATION  OF 
LORD  ERNIE 

I 

John  Hendricks  was  bear-leading  at  the  time.  He 
had  originally  studied  for  Holy  Orders,  but  had 
abandoned  the  Church  later  for  private  reasons  con- 
nected with  his  faith,  and  had  taken  to  teaching  and 
tutoring  instead.  He  was  an  honest,  upstanding 
fellow  of  five-and-thirty,  incorruptible,  intelligent  in 
a  simple,  straightforward  way.  He  played  games 
with  his  head,  more  than  most  Englishmen  do,  but 
he  went  through  life  without  much  calculation.  He 
had  qualities  that  made  boys  like  and  respect  him  ; 
he  won  their  confidence.  Poor,  proud,  ambitious, 
he  realised  that  fate  offered  him  a  chance  when  the 
Secretary  of  State  for  Scotland  asked  him  if  he 
would  give  up  his  other  pupils  for  a  year  and  take 
his  son,  Lord  Ernie,  round  the  world  upon  an  educa- 
tional trip  that  might  make  a  man  of  him.  For  Lord 
Ernie  was  the  only  son,  and  the  Marquess's  influence 
was  naturally  great.  To  have  deposited  a  regenerated 
Lord  Ernie  at  the  castle  gates  might  have  guaranteed 
Hendricks'  future.  After  leaving  Eton  prematurely 
the  lad  had  come  under  Hendricks'  charge  for  a  time, 
and  with  such  excellent  results — '  I'd  simply  swear 
by  that  chap,  you  know,'  the  boy  used  to  say — that 

3 


4  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

his  father,  considerably  impressed,  and  rather  as  a 
last  resort,  had  made  this  proposition.  And  Hend- 
ricks, without  much  calculation,  had  accepted  it.  He 
liked  '  Bindy '  for  himself.  It  was  in  his  heart  to 
'make  a  man  of  him,'  if  possible.  They  had  now 
been  round  the  world  together  and  had  come  up 
from  Brindisi  to  the  Italian  Lakes,  and  so  into 
Switzerland.  It  was  middle  October.  With  a  week 
or  two  to  spare  they  were  making  leisurely  for  the 
ancestral  halls  in  Aberdeenshire. 

The  nine  months'  travel,  Hendricks  realised  with 
keen  disappointment,  had  accomplished,  however, 
very  little.  The  job  had  been  exhausting,  and  he 
had  conscientiously  done  his  best.  Lord  Ernie  liked 
him  thoroughly,  admiring  his  vigour  with  a  smile  of 
tolerant  good-nature  through  his  ceaseless  cigarette 
smoke.  They  were  almost  like  two  boys  together. 
'  You  are  a  chap  and  a  half,  Mr.  Hendricks.  You 
really  ought  to  be  in  the  Cabinet  with  my  father.' 
Hendricks  would  deliver  up  his  useless  parcel  at  the 
castle  gates,  pocket  the  thanks  and  the  hard-earned 
fee,  and  go  back  to  his  arduous  life  of  teaching  and 
writing  in  dingy  lodgings.  It  was  a  pity,  even  on 
the  lowest  grounds.  The  tutor,  truth  to  tell,  felt 
undeniably  depressed.  Hopeful  by  nature,  opti- 
mistic, too,  as  men  of  action  usually  are,  he  cast 
about  him,  even  at  the  last  hour,  for  something  that 
might  stir  the  boy  to  life,  wake  him  up,  put  zest  and 
energy  into  him.  But  there  was  only  Paris  now 
between  them  and  the  end  ;  and  Paris  certainly  could 
not  be  relied  upon  for  help.  Bindy 's  desire  for 
Paris  even  was  not  strong  enough  to  count.  No 
desire  in  him  was  ever  strong.  There  lay  the  crux 
of  the  problem  in  a  word — Lord  Ernie  was  without 
desire  which  is  life. 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE      5 

Tall,  well-built,  handsome,  he  was  yet  such  a 
feeble  creature,  without  the  energy  to  be  either  wild 
or  vicious.  Languid,  yet  certainly  not  decadent, 
life  ran  slowly,  flabbily  in  him.  He  took  to 
nothing.  The  first  impression  he  made  was  fine — 
then  nothing.  His  only  tastes,  if  tastes  they  could 
be  called,  were  out-of-door  tastes  :  he  was  vaguely 
interested  in  flying,  yet  not  enough  to  master  the 
mechanism  of  it  ;  he  liked  motoring  at  high  speed, 
being  driven,  not  driving  himself;  and  he  loved 
to  wander  about  in  woods,  making  fires  like  a 
Red  Indian,  provided  they  lit  easily,  yet  even  this, 
not  for  the  poetry  of  the  thing  nor  for  any  love  of 
adventure,  but  just  '  because.'  '  I  like  fire,  you 
know  ;  like  to  watch  it  burn.'  Heat  seemed  to  give 
him  curious  satisfaction,  perhaps  because  the  heat  of 
life,  he  realised,  was  deficient  in  his  six-foot  body. 
It  was  significant,  this  love  of  fire  in  him,  though 
no  one  could  discover  why.  As  a  child  he  had  a 
dangerous  delight  in  fireworks — anything  to  do  with 
fire.  He  would  watch  a  candle  flame  as  though  he 
were  a  fire-worshipper,  but  had  never  been  known 
to  make  a  single  remark  of  interest  about  it.  In  a 
wood,  as  mentioned,  the  first  thing  he  did  was  to 
gather  sticks — though  the  resulting  fire  was  never 
part  of  any  purpose.  He  had  no  purpose.  There 
was  no  wind  or  fire  of  life  in  the  lad  at  all.  The 
fine  body  was  inert. 

Hendricks  did  wrong,  of  course,  in  going  where 
he  did — to  this  little  desolate  village  in  the  Jura 
Mountains — though  it  was  the  first  time  all  these 
trying  months  he  had  allowed  himself  a  personal 
desire.  But  from  Domo  Dossola  the  Simplon  Ex- 
press would  pass  Lausanne,  and  from  Lausanne  to 
the    Jura   was   but   a   step — all   on   the   way   home, 


6  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

moreover.  And  what  prompted  him  was  merely  a 
sentimental  desire  to  revisit  the  place  where  ten  years 
before  he  had  fallen  violently  in  love  with  the  pretty 
daughter  of  the  Pasteur,  M.  Leysin,  in  whose  house 
he  lodged.  He  had  gone  there  to  learn  French. 
The  very  slight  detour  seemed  pardonable. 

His  spiritless  charge  was  easily  persuaded. 

'  We  might  go  home  by  Pontarlier  instead  of  Bale, 
and  get  a  glimpse  of  the  Jura,'  he  suggested.  '  The 
line  slides  along  its  frontiers  a  bit,  and  then  goes 
bang  across  it.  We  might  even  stop  off  a  night  on 
the  way — if  you  cared  about  it.  I  know  a  curious  old 
village — Villaret — where  I  went  at  your  age  to  pick 
up  French.' 

'  Top-hole,'  replied  Lord  Ernie  listlessly.  '  All 
on  the  way  to  Paris,  ain't  it  ? ' 

'  Of  course.  You  see  there's  a  fortnight  before 
we  need  get  home.' 

' So  there  is,  yes.  Let's  go.'  He  felt  it  was 
almost  his  own  idea,  and  that  he  decided  it. 

*  If  you'd  really  like  it.' 

'  Oh,  yes.  Why  not  ?  I'm  sick  of  cities.'  He 
flicked  some  dust  off  his  coat  sleeve  with  an  immacu- 
late silk  handkerchief,  then  lit  a  cigarette.  'Just  as 
you  like,'  he  added  with  a  drawl  and  a  smile.  '  I'm 
ready  for  anything.'  There  was  no  keenness,  no 
personal  desire,  no  choice  in  reality  at  all  ;  flabby 
good-nature  merely. 

A  suggestion  was  invariably  enough,  as  though 
the  boy  had  no  will  of  his  own,  his  opposition  rarely 
more  than  negative  sulking  that  soon  flattened  out 
because  it  was  forgotten.  Indeed,  no  sign  of  posi- 
tive life  lay  in  him  anywhere — no  vitality,  aggres- 
sion, coherence  of  desire  and  will  ;  vacuous  rather 
than    imbecile ;     unable    to    go    forward    upon    any 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE      7 

definite  line  of  his  own,  as  though  all  wheels  had 
slipped  their  cogs  ;  a  pasty  soul  that  took  good 
enough  impressions,  yet  never  mastered  them  for  per- 
manent use.  Nothing  stuck.  He  would  never  make 
a  politician,  much  less  a  statesman.  The  family  title 
would  be  borne  by  a  nincompoop.  Yet  all  the 
machinery  was  there,  one  felt — if  only  it  could  be 
driven,  made  to  go.  It  was  sad.  Lord  Ernie  was 
heir  to  great  estates,  with  a  name  and  position  that 
might  influence  thousands. 

And  Hendricks  had  been  a  good  selection,  with 
his  virility  and  gentle,  understanding  firmness.  He 
understood  the  problem.  'You'll  do  what  no  one 
else  could,'  the  anxious  father  told  him,  '  for  he 
worships  you,  and  you  can  sting  without  hurting  him. 
You'll  put  life  and  interest  into  him  if  anybody  in 
this  world  can.  I  have  great  hopes  of  this  tour.  I 
shall  always  be  in  your  debt,  Mr.  Hendricks.'  And 
Hendricks  had  accepted  the  onerous  duty  in  his 
big,  high-minded  way.  He  was  conscientious  to 
the  backbone.  This  little  side-trip  was  his  sole 
deflection,  if  such  it  can  be  called  even.  '  Life,  light 
and  cheerful  influences,'  had  been  his  instructions, 
'  nothing  dull  or  melancholy ;  an  occasional  fling,  if 
he  wants  it — I'd  welcome  a  fling  as  a  good  sign — 
and  as  much  intercourse  with  decent  people,  and 
stimulating  sight-seeing  as  you  can  manage — or  can 
stand,'  the  Marquess  added  with  a  smile.  '  Only  you 
won't  overtax  the  lad,  will  you?  Above  all,  let 
him  think  he  chooses  and  decides,  when  possible.' 

Villaret,  however,  hardly  complied  with  these 
conditions ;  there  was  melancholy  in  it ;  Hendricks' 
mind — whose  reflexes  the  spongy  nature  of  the 
empty  lad  absorbed  too  easily — would  be  in  a 
minor    key.      Yet   a   night    could    work    no    harm. 


8  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

Whence  came,  he  wondered,  the  fleeting  notion  that 
it  might  do  good  ?  Was  it,  perhaps,  that  Leysin, 
the  vigorous  old  Pasteur,  might  contribute  some- 
thing ?  Leysin  had  been  a  considerable  force  in  his 
own  development,  he  remembered  ;  they  had  corre- 
sponded a  little  since  ;  Leysin  was  out  of  the 
common,  certainly,  restless  energy  in  him  as  of  the 
sea.  Hendricks  found  difficulty  in  sorting  out  his 
thoughts  and  motives,  but  Leysin  was  in  them  some- 
where— this  idea  that  his  energetic  personality  might 
help.  His  vitalising  effect,  at  least,  would  counteract 
the  melancholy. 

For    Villaret    lay    huddled    upon    unstimulating 
slopes,   the    robe    of  gloomy   pine -woods   sweeping 
down  towards  its  poverty   from  bleak   heights  and 
desolate    gorges.      The    peasants   were    morose,   ill- 
living   folk.      It   was  a  dark  untaught  corner   in  a 
range  of  otherwise  fairy  mountains,  a  backwater  the 
sun    had    neglected    to    clean    out.      Superstitions, 
Hendricks    remembered,    of    incredible    kind    still 
lingered  there ;  a  touch  of  the  sinister  hovered  about 
the  composite  mind  of  its  inhabitants.     The  Pasteur 
fought  strenuously  this  blackness  in  their  lives  and 
thoughts ;    in   the   village    itself  with    more  or    less 
success — though  even  there  the  drinking  and  habits 
of  living    were    utterly    unsweetened  —  but    on    the 
heights,    among    the    somewhat    arid    pastures,    the 
mountain   men   remained   untamed,  turbulent,   even 
menacing.      Hendricks    knew    this    of   old,    though 
he  had  never  understood  too  well.     But  he  remem- 
bered how  the  English  boys  at  la  cure  were  forbidden 
to  climb    in   certain   directions,  because   the   life   in 
these  scattered  chalets  was  somehow  loose  and  violent. 
There  was  danger  there,  the  danger,  however,  never 
definitely   stated.      Those   lonely    ridges   lay    cursed 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE      9 

beneath  dark  skies.  He  remembered,  too,  the  savage 
dogs,  the  difficulty  of  approach,  the  aggressive  attitude 
towards  the  plucky  Pasteur's  visits  to  these  remote 
upland  pdturages.  They  did  not  lie  in  his  parish  : 
Leysin  made  his  occasional  visits  as  man  and  mis- 
sionary ;  for  extraordinary  rumours,  Hendricks  re- 
called, were  rife,  of  some  queer  worship  of  their  own 
these  lawless  peasants  kept  alive  in  their  distant, 
windy  territory,  planted  there  first,  the  story  had 
it,  by  some  renegade  priest  whose  name  was  now 
forgotten. 

Hendricks  himself  had  no  personal  experiences. 
He  had  been  too  deeply  in  love  to  trouble  about 
outside  things,  however  strange.  But  Marston's  case 
had  never  quite  left  his  memory — Marston,  who 
climbed  up  by  unlawful  ways,  stayed  away  two  whole 
days  and  nights,  and  came  back  suddenly  with  his 
air  of  being  broken,  shattered,  appallingly  used  up, 
his  face  so  lined  and  strained  it  seemed  aged  by 
twenty  years,  and  yet  with  a  singular  new  life  in  him, 
so  vehement,  loud,  and  reckless,  it  was  like  a  kind  of 
sober  intoxication.  He  was  packed  off  to  England 
before  he  could  relate  anything.  But  he  had  suffered 
shocks.  His  white,  passionate  face,  his  boisterous 
new  vigour,  the  way  M.  Leysin  screened  his  view 
of  the  heights  as  he  put  him  personally  into  the  Paris 
train — almost  as  though  he  feared  the  boy  would  see 
the  hills  and  make  another  dash  for  them  ! — made  up 
an  unforgettable  picture  in  the  mind. 

Moreover,  between  the  sodden  village  and  that 
string  of  evil  chalets  that  lay  in  their  dark  line  upon 
the  heights  there  had  been  links.  Exactly  of  what 
nature  he  never  knew,  for  love  made  all  else  un- 
interesting ;  only,  he  remembered  swarthy,  dark- 
faced  messengers  descending  into  the  sleepy  hamlet 


io  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

from  time  to  time,  big,  mountain-limbed  fellows  with 
wind  in  their  hair  and  fire  in  their  eyes  ;  that  their 
visits  produced  commotion  and  excitement  of  difficult 
kinds  ;  that  wild  orgies  invariably  followed  in  their 
wake  ;  and  that,  when  the  messengers  went  back, 
they  did  not  go  alone.  There  was  life  up  there, 
whereas  the  village  was  moribund.  And  none  who 
went  ever  cared  to  return.  Cudrefin,  the  young 
giant  vigneron,  taken  in  this  way,  from  the  very  side 
of  his  sweetheart  too,  came  back  two  years  later  as  a 
messenger  himself.  He  did  not  even  ask  for  the 
girl,  who  had  meanwhile  married  another.  '  There's 
life  up  there  with  us,'  he  told  the  drunken  loafers  in 
the  « Guillaume  Tell,'  « wind  and  fire  to  make  you 
spin  to  the  devil — or  to  heaven  ! '  He  was  enthusiasm 
personified.  In  the  village  he  had  been  merely 
drinking  himself  stupidly  to  death.  Vaguely,  too, 
Hendricks  remembered  visits  of  police  from  the 
neighbouring  town,  some  of  them  on  horseback,  all 
armed,  and  that  once  even  soldiers  accompanied  them, 
and  on  another  occasion  a  bishop,  or  whatever  the 
church  dignitary  was  called,  had  arrived  suddenly 
and  promised  radical  assistance  of  a  spiritual  kind 
that  had  never  materialised — oh,  and  many  other 
details  that  now  trooped  back  with  suggestions  time 
had  certainly  not  made  smaller.  For  the  love  had 
passed  along  its  way  and  gone,  and  he  was  free  now 
to  the  invasion  of  other  memories,  dwarfed  at  the 
time  by  that  dominating,  sweet  passion. 

Yet  all  the  tutor  wanted  now,  this  chance  week  in 
late  October,  was  to  see  again  the  corner  of  the  mossy 
forest  where  he  had  known  that  marvellous  thing, 
first  love  ;  renew  his  link  with  Leysin  who  had  taught 
him  much  ;  and  see  if,  perchance,  this  man's  stalwart, 
virile  energy  might  possibly  overflow  with  benefit  into 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     u 

his  listless  charge.  The  expenses  he  meant  to  pay 
out  of  his  own  pocket.  Those  wild  pagans  on  the 
heights — even  if  they  still  existed — there  was  no  need 
to  mention.  Lord  Ernie  knew  little  French,  and 
certainly  no  word  of  patois.  For  one  night,  or  even 
two,  the  risk  was  negligible. 

Was  there,  indeed,  risk  at.  all  of  any  sort  ?  Was 
not  this  vague  uneasiness  he  felt  merely  conscience 
faintly  pricking  ?  He  could  not  feel  that  he  was 
doing  wrong.  At  worst,  the  youth  might  feel  de- 
pression for  a  few  hours — speedily  curable  by  taking 
the  train. 

Something,  nevertheless,  did  gnaw  at  him  in  sub- 
conscious fashion,  producing  a  sense  of  apprehension  ; 
and  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  this  memory  of 
the  mountain  tribe  was  the  cause  of  it — a  revival  of 
forgotten  boyhood's  awe.  He  glanced  across  at  the 
figure  of  Bindy  lounging  upon  the  hotel  lawn  in  an 
easy-chair,  full  in  the  sunshine,  a  newspaper  at  his 
feet.  Reclining  there,  he  looked  so  big  and  strong 
and  handsome,  yet  in  reality  was  but  a  painted  lath 
without  resistance,  much  less  attack,  in  all  his  many 
inches.  And  suddenly  the  tutor  recalled  another 
thing,  the  link,  however,  undiscoverable,  and  it  was 
this  :  that  the  boy's  mother,  a  Canadian,  had 
suffered  once  severely  from  a  winter  in  Quebec, 
where  the  Marquess  had  first  made  her  acquaintance. 
Frost  had  robbed  her,  if  he  remembered  rightly,  of  a 
foot — with  the  result,  at  any  rate,  that  she  had  a 
wholesome  terror  of  the  cold.  She  sought  heat  and 
sun  instinctively — fire.  Also,  that  asthma  had  been 
her  sore  affliction — sheer  inability  to  take  a  full, 
deep  breath.  This  deficiency  of  heat  and  air, 
therefore,  were  in  her  mind.  And  he  knew  that 
Bindy's  birth  had  been  an  anxious  time,  the  anxiety 


12  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

justified,  moreover,  since  she  had  yielded  up  her  life 
for  him. 

And  so  the  singular  thought  flashed  through 
him  suddenly  as  he  watched  the  reclining,  languid 
boy,  Cudrefin's  descriptive  phrase  oddly  singing  in 
his  head — 

'  Heat  and  fire,  fire  and  wind — why,  it's  the  very 
thing  he  lacks  !  And  he's  always  after  them.  I 
wonder ! ' 


II 

The  lumbering  yellow  diligence  brought  them  up 
from  the  Lake  shore,  a  long  two  hours,  deposited 
them  at  the  opening  of  the  village  street,  and  went 
its  grinding,  toiling  way  towards  the  frontier.  They 
arrived  in  a  blur  of  rain.  It  was  evening.  Lowering 
clouds  drew  night  before  her  time  upon  the  world, 
obscuring  the  distant  summits  of  the  Oberland,  but 
lights  twinkled  here  and  there  in  the  nearer  landscape, 
mapping  the  gloom  with  signals.  The  village  was 
very  still.  Above  and  below  it,  however,  two  big 
winds  were  at  work,  with  curious  results.  For  a 
lower  wind  from  the  east  in  gusty  draughts  drove 
the  body  of  the  lake  into  quick  white  horses  which 
shone  like  wings  against  the  deep  basses  Alpes,  while  a 
westerly  current  swept  the  heights  immediately  above 
the  village.  There  was  this  odd  division  of  two 
weathers,  presaging  a  change.  A  narrow  line  of 
clear  bright  sky  showed  up  the  Jura  outline  finely 
towards  the  north,  stars  peeping  sharply  through  the 
pale  moist  spaces.  Hurrying  vapours,  driven  by  the 
upper  westerly  wind,  concealed  them  thinly.  They 
flashed  and  vanished.  The  entire  ridge,  five  thousand 
feet  in  the  air,  had  an  appearance  of  moving  through 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     13 

the  sky.  Between  these  opposing  winds  at  different 
levels  the  village  itself  lay  motionless,  while  the  world 
slid  past,  as  it  were,  in  two  directions. 

'  The  earth  seems  turning  round,'  remarked  Lord 
Ernie.  He  had  been  reading  a  novel  all  day  in 
train  and  steamer,  and  smoking  endless  cigarettes  in 
the  diligence,  his  companion  and  himself  its  only 
occupants.  He  seemed  suddenly  to  have  waked  up. 
'  What  is  it  ? '  he  asked  with  interest. 

Hendricks  explained  the  queer  effect  of  the  two 
contrary  winds.  Columns  of  peat  smoke  rose  in 
thin  straight  lines  from  the  blur  of  houses,  untouched 
by  the  careering  currents  above  and  below.  The 
winds  whirled  round  them. 

Lord  Ernie  listened  attentively  to  the  explanation. 

'  I  feel  as  if  I  were  spinning  with  it — like  a  top,' 
he  observed,  putting  his  hand  to  his  head  a  moment. 
'  And  what  are  those  lights  up  there  ?  ' 

He  pointed  to  the  distant  ridge,  where  fires  were 
blazing  as  though  stars  had  fallen  and  set  fire  to  the 
trees.  Several  were  visible,  at  regular  intervals. 
The  sharp  summits  of  the  limestone  mountains  cut 
hard  into  the  clear  spaces  of  northern  sky  thousands 
of  feet  above. 

'  Oh,  the  peasants  burning  wood  and  stuff,  I 
suppose,'  the  tutor  told  him. 

The  youth  turned  an  instant,  standing  still  to 
examine  them  with  a  shading  hand. 

'People  live  up  there?'  he  asked.  There  was 
surprise  in  his  voice,  and  his  body  stiffened  oddly  as 
he  spoke. 

'  In  mountain  chalets,  yes,'  replied  the  other  a 
trifle  impatiently,  noticing  his  attitude.  '  Come 
along  now,'  he  added,  c  let's  get  to  our  rooms  in  the 
carpenter's  house  before  the  rain  comes  down.     You 


i4  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

can  see  the  windows  twinkling  over  there,'  and  he 
pointed  to  a  building  near  the  church.  '  The  storm 
will  catch  us.'  They  moved  quickly  down  the 
deserted  street  together  in  the  deepening  gloom, 
passing  little  gardens,  doors  of  open  barns,  straggling 
manure  heaps,  and  courtyards  of  cobbled  stones 
where  the  occasional  figure  of  a  man  was  seen.  But 
Lord  Ernie  lingered  behind,  half  loitering.  Once 
or  twice,  to  the  other's  increasing  annoyance,  he 
paused,  standing  still  to  watch  the  heights  through 
openings  between  the  tumble-down  old  houses. 
Half  a  dozen  big  drops  of  rain  splashed  heavily  on 
the  road. 

'  Hurry  up  ! '  cried  Hendricks,  looking  back,  *  or 
we  shall  be  caught.  It's  the  mountain  wind — the 
coup  dejoran.  You  can  hear  it  coming  I '  For  the 
lad  was  peering  across  a  low  wall  in  an  attitude  of 
fixed  attention.  He  made  a  gesture  with  one  hand, 
as  though  he  signalled  towards  the  ridges  where  the 
fires  blazed.  Hendricks  called  pretty  sharply  to 
him  then.  It  was  possible,  of  course,  that  he  mis- 
interpreted the  movement  ;  it  may  merely  have  been 
that  he  passed  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  across  his 
eyes,  or  used  the  palm  to  focus  sight,  for  his  hat 
was  off"  and  the  light  was  quite  uncertain.  Only 
Hendricks  did  not  like  the  lingering  or  the  gesture. 
He  put  authority  into  his  tone  at  once.  '  Come 
along,  will  you  ;  come  along,  Bindy  !  '  he  called. 

The  answer  filled  him  with  amazement. 

'  All  right,  all  right.  I'll  follow  in  a  moment.  I 
like  this.' 

The  tutor  went  back  a  few  steps  towards  him. 
The  tone  startled  him. 

1  Like  what  ? '  he  asked. 

And  Lord  Ernie  turned  towards  him  with  another 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     i5 

face.  There  was  fighting  in  it.  There  was  resolu- 
tion. 

'  This,  of  course,'  the  boy  answered  steadily,  but 
with  excitement  shut  down  behind,  as  he  waved  one 
arm  towards  the  mountains.  '  I've  dreamed  this  sort 
of  thing  ;  I've  known  it  somewhere.  We've  seen 
nothing  like  it  all  our  stupid  trip.'  The  flash  in  his 
brown  eyes  passed  then,  as  he  added  more  quietly, 
but  with  firmness  :  *  Don't  wait  for  me  ;    I'll  follow.' 

Hendricks  stood  still  in  his  tracks.  There  was  a 
decision  in  the  voice  and  manner  that  arrested  him. 
The  confidence,  the  positive  statement,  the  eager 
desire,  the  hint  of  energy — all  this  was  new.  He 
had  never  encouraged  the  boy's  habit  of  vivid  dream- 
ing, deeming  the  narration  unwise.  It  flashed  across 
him  suddenly  now  that  the  i  deficiency  '  might  be 
only  on  the  surface.  Energy  and  life  hid,  perhaps, 
subconsciously  in  him.  Did  the  dreams  betray  an 
activity  he  knew  not  how  to  carry  through  and  cor- 
relate with  his  everyday,  external  world  ?  And  were 
these  dreams  evidence  of  deep,  hidden  desire — a 
clue,  possibly,  to  the  energy  he  sought  and  needed, 
the  exact  kind  of  energy  that  might  set  the  inert 
machinery  in  motion  and  drive  it  ? 

He  hesitated  an  instant,  waiting  in  the  road.  He 
was  on  the  verge  of  understanding  something  that 
yet  just  evaded  him.  Bindy's  childish,  instinctive 
love  of  fire,  his  passion  for  air,  for  rushing  wind,  for 
oceans  of  limitless 

There  came  at  that  moment  a  deep  roaring  in  the 
mountains.  Far  away,  but  rapidly  approaching,  the 
ominous  booming  of  it  filled  the  air.  The  westerly 
wind  descended  by  the  deep  gorges,  shaking  the 
forests,  shouting  as  it  came.  Clouds  of  white  dust 
spiralled  into  the  sky  off  the  upper  roads,  spread  into 


16  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

sheets  like  snow,  and  swept  downwards  with  incredible 
velocity.  The  air  turned  suddenly  cooler.  More 
big  drops  of  rain  splashed  and  thudded  on  the  roofs 
and  road.  There  was  a  feeling  of  something  violent 
and  instantaneous  about  to  happen,  a  sense  almost 
of  attack.  The  joran  tore  headlong  down  into  the 
valley. 

'  Come  on,  man,'  he  cried  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 
'  That's  the  joran  !  I  know  it  of  old  !  It's  terrific. 
Run  ! '  And  he  caught  the  lad,  still  lingering,  by 
the  arm. 

But  Lord  Ernie  shook  himself  free  with  an  excite- 
ment almost  violent. 

'  I've  been  up  there  with  those  great  fires,'  he 
shouted.  *  I  know  the  whole  blessed  thing.  But 
where  was  it  ?  Where  ? '  His  face  was  white,  eyes 
shining,  manner  strangely  agitated.  '  Big,  naked 
fellows  who  dance  like  wind,  and  rushing  women  of 
fire,  and ' 

Two  things  happened  then,  interrupting  the  boy's 
wild  language.  The  joran  reached  the  village  and 
struck  it ;  the  houses  shook,  the  trees  bent  double, 
and  the  cloud  of  limestone  dust,  painting  the  dark- 
ness white,  swept  on  between  Hendricks  and  the 
boy  with  extraordinary  force,  even  separating  them. 
There  was  a  clatter  of  falling  tiles,  of  banging  doors 
and  windows,  and  then  a  burst  of  icy  rain  that  fell 
like  iron  shot  on  everything,  raising  actual  spray. 
The  air  was  in  an  instant  thick.  Everything  drove 
past,  roared,  trembled.  And,  secondly — just  in  that 
brief  instant  when  man  and  boy  were  separated — 
there  shot  between  them  with  shadowy  swiftness 
the  figure  of  a  man,  hatless,  with  flying  hair,  who 
vanished  with  running  strides  into  the  darkness  of 
the  village  street  beyond — all  so  rapidly  that  sight 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     17 

could  focus  the  manner  neither  of  his  coming  nor 
of  his  going.  Hendricks  caught  a  glimpse  of  a 
swarthy,  elemental  type  of  face,  the  swing  of  great 
shoulders,  the  leap  of  big  loose  limbs — something 
rushing  and  elastic  in  the  whole  appearance — but 
nothing  he  could  claim  for  definite  detail.  The 
figure  swept  through  the  dust  and  wind  like  an 
animal — and  was  gone.  It  was,  indeed,  only  the 
contrast  of  Lord  Ernie's  whitened  skin,  of  his  grace- 
ful, half-elegant  outline,  that  enabled  him  to  recall 
the  details  that  he  did.  The  weather-beaten  visage 
seemed  to  storm  away.  Bindy's  delicate  aristocratic 
face  shone  so  pale  and  eager.  But  that  a  real  man 
had  passed  was  indubitable,  for  the  boy  made  a 
flurried  movement  as  though  to  follow.  Hendricks 
caught  his  arm  with  a  determined  grip  and  pulled 
him  back. 

'  Who  was  that  ?  Who  was  it  ? '  Lord  Ernie 
cried  breathlessly,  resisting  with  all  his  strength, 
but  vainly. 

'  Some  mountain  fellow,  of  course.  Nothing  to 
do  with  us.'  And  he  dragged  the  boy  after  him 
down  the  road.  For  a  second  both  seemed  to  have 
lost  their  heads.  Hendricks  certainly  felt  a  gust  of 
something  strike  him  into  momentary  consternation 
that  was  half  alarm. 

'  From  up  there,  where  the  fires  are  ? '  asked  the 
boy,  shouting  above  the  wind  and  rain. 

'  Yes,  yes,  I  suppose  so.  Come  along.  We  shall 
be  soused.  Are  you  mad  ? '  For  Bindy  still  held 
back  with  all  his  weight,  trying  to  turn  round  and 
see.  Hendricks  used  more  force.  There  was  almost 
a  scuffle  in  the  road. 

'  All  right,  I'm  coming.  I  only  wanted  to  look 
a  second.      You  needn't  drag  my  arm  out.'      He 

c 


1 8  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

ceased  resistance,  and  they  lurched  forward  together. 
'  But  what  a  chap  he  was  !  He  went  like  the  wind. 
Did  you  see  the  light  streaming  out  of  him — like 
fire  ? ' 

'  Like  what  ?  '  shouted  Hendricks,  as  they  dashed 
now  through  the  driving  tempest. 

*  Fire  !  '  bawled  the  boy.  *  It  Jit  me  up  as  he 
passed — fire  that  lights  but  does  not  burn,  and  wind 
that  blows  the  world  along ' 

1  Button  your  coat  and  run  !  '  interrupted  the 
other,  hurrying  his  pace,  and  pulling  the  lad  forcibly 
after  him. 

'  Don't  twist  !  You're  hurting  !  I  can  run  as 
well  as  you  ! '  came  back,  with  an  energy  Bindy  had 
never  shown  before  in  his  life.  He  was  breathless, 
panting,  charged  with  excitement  still.  '  It  touched 
me  as  he  passed — fire  that  lights  but  doesn't  burn, 
and  wind  that  blows  the  heart  to  flame  —  let  me 
go,  will  you  ?     Let  go  my  hand.' 

He  dashed  free  and  away.  The  torrential  rain 
came  down  in  sheets  now  from  a  windless  sky,  for 
the  joran  was  already  miles  beyond  them,  tearing 
across  the  angry  lake.  They  reached  the  carpenter's 
house,  where  their  lodging  was,  soaked  to  the  skin. 
They  dried  themselves,  and  ate  the  light  supper  of 
soup  and  omelette  prepared  for  them — ate  it  in  their 
dressing-gowns.  Lord  Ernie  went  to  bed  with  a 
hot-water  bottle  of  rough  stone.  He  declared  with 
decision  that  he  felt  no  chill.  His  excitement  had 
somewhat  passed. 

'  But,  I  say,  Mr.  Hendricks,'  he  remarked,  as  he 
settled  down  with  his  novel  and  a  cigarette,  calmed 
and  normal  again,  l  this  is  a  place  and  a  half,  isn't  it  ? 
It  stirs  me  all  up.  I  suppose  it's  the  storm.  What 
do  you  think  ?  ' 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     19 

'  Electrical  state  of  the  air,  yes,'  replied  the  tutor 

briefly. 

Soon  afterwards  he  closed  the  shutters  on  the 
weather  side,  said  good-night,  and  went  into  his  own 
room  to  unpack.  The  singular  phrase  Bindy  had 
used  kept  singing  through  his  head  :  '  Fire  that 
lights  but  doesn't  burn,  and  wind  that  blows  the 
heart  to  flame  ' — the  first  time  he  had  said  '  blows 
the  world  along.'  Where  on  earth  had  the  boy 
got  hold  of  such  queer  words?  He  still  saw  the 
figure  of  that  wild  mountain  fellow  who  had  passed 
between  them  with  the  dust  and  wind  and  rain. 
There  was  confusion  in  the  picture,  or  rather  in 
his  memory  of  it,  perhaps.  But  it  seemed  to  him, 
looking  back  now,  that  the  man  in  passing  had 
paused  a  second — the  briefest  second  merely — and 
had  spoken,  or,  at  any  rate,  had  stared  closely  a 
moment  into  Bindy's  face,  and  that  some  communi- 
cation had  been  between  them  in  that  moment  of 
elemental  violence. 


Ill 

Pasteur  Leysin  Hendricks  remembered  very 
well.  Even  now  in  his  old  age  he  was  a  vigorous 
personality,  but  in  his  youth  he  had  been  almost 
revolutionary  ;  wild  enough,  too,  it  was  rumoured, 
until  he  had  turned  to  God  of  his  own  accord  as 
offering  a  larger  field  for  his  strenuous  vitality.  The 
little  man  was  possessed  of  tireless  life,  a  born  leader 
of  forlorn  hopes,  attack  his  mitier,  and  heavy  odds 
the  conditions  that  he  loved.  Before  settling  down 
in  this  isolated  spot — pasteur  de  Veglise  independent  in 
a  protestant  Canton — he  had  been  a  missionary  in 
remote  pagan  lands.     His  horizon  was  a  big  one, 


20  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

he  had  seen  strange  things.  An  uncouth  being, 
with  a  large  head  upon  a  thin  and  wiry  body  sup- 
ported by  steely  bowed  legs,  he  had  that  courage 
which  makes  itself  known  in  advance  of  any  proof. 
Hendricks  slipped  over  to  la  cure  about  nine  o'clock 
and  found  him  in  his  study.  Lord  Ernie  was  asleep  ; 
at  least  his  light  was  out,  no  sound  or  movement 
audible  from  his  room.  The  joran  had  swept  the 
heavens  of  clouds.  Stars  shone  brilliantly.  The  fires 
still  blazed  faintly  upon  the  heights. 

The  visit  was  not  unexpected,  for  Hendricks  had 
already  sent  a  message  to  announce  himself,  and  the 
moment  he  sat  down,  met  the  Pasteur's  eye,  heard  his 
voice,  and  observed  his  slight  imperious  gestures,  he 
passed  under  the  influence  of  a  personality  stronger 
than  his  own.  Something  in  Leysin's  atmosphere 
stretched  him,  lifting  his  horizon.  He  had  come 
chiefly — he  now  realised  it — to  borrow  help  and 
explanation  with  regard  to  Lord  Ernie  ;  the  events 
of  two  hours  before  had  impressed  him  more  than  he 
quite  cared  to  own,  and  he  wished  to  talk  about  it. 
But,  somehow,  he  found  it  difficult  to  state  his  case  ; 
no  opening  presented  itself ;  or,  rather,  the  Pasteur's 
mind,  intent  upon  something  of  his  own,  was  too 
preoccupied.  In  reply  to  a  question  presently, 
the  tutor  gave  a  brief  outline  of  his  present  duties, 
but  omitted  the  scene  of  excitement  in  the  village 
street,  for  as  he  watched  the  furrowed  face  in  the 
light  of  the  study  lamp,  he  realised  both  anxiety  and 
spiritual  high  pressure  at  work  below  the  surface 
there.  He  hesitated  to  intrude  his  own  affairs  at 
first.  They  discussed,  nevertheless,  the  psychology 
of  the  boy,  and  the  unfavourable  chances  of  re- 
generation, while  the  old  man's  face  lit  up  and 
flashed  from  time  to  time,  until  at  length  the  truth 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE    21 

came   out,  and   Hendricks  understood   his  friend's 
preoccupation. 

'  What  you're  attempting  with  an  individual,' 
Leysin  exclaimed  with  ardour,  '  is  precisely  what 
I'm  attempting  with  a  crowd.  And  it's  difficult. 
For  poor  sinners  make  poor  saints,  and  the  lukewarm 
I  will  spue  out  of  my  mouth.'  He  made  an  abrupt, 
resentful  gesture  to  signify  his  disgust  and  weariness, 
perhaps  his  contempt  as  well.  *  Cut  it  down  !  Why 
cumbereth  it  the  ground  ?  ' 

*  A  hard,  uncharitable  doctrine,'  began  the  tutor, 
realising  that  he  must  discuss  the  Parish  before  he 
could  introduce  Bindy's  case  effectively.  '  You  mean, 
of  course,  that  there's  no  material  to  work  on  ?  ' 

1  No  energy  to  direct,'  was  the  emphatic  reply. 
*  My  sheep  here  are — real  sheep  ;  mere  negative, 
drink-sodden  loafers  without  desire.  Hospital  cases  ! 
I  could  work  with  tigers  and  wild  beasts,  but  who 
ever  trained  a  slug  ? ' 

1  Your  proper  place  is  on  the  heights,'  suggested 
Hendricks,  interrupting  at  a  venture.  *  There's 
scope  enough  up  there,  or  used  to  be.  Have  they 
died  out,  those  wild  men  of  the  mountains  ?  '  And 
hit  by  chance  the  target  in  the  bull's-eye. 

The  old  man's  face  turned  younger  as  he  answered 
quickly. 

1  Men  like  that,'  he  exclaimed,  '  do  not  die  off. 
They  breed  and  multiply.'  He  leaned  forward 
across  the  table,  his  manner  eager,  fervent,  almost 
impetuous  with  suppressed  desire  for  action.  '  There's 
evil  thinking  up  there,'  he  said  suggestively,  '  but, 
by  heaven,  it's  alive  ;  it's  positive,  ambitious,  con- 
structive. With  violent  feeling  and  strong  desire 
to  work  on,  there's  hope  of  some  result.  Upon 
vehement  impulses  like  that,  pagan  or  anything  else, 


22  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

a  man  can  work  with  a  will.  Those  are  the  tigers  ; 
down  here  I  have  the  slugs  ! ' 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  leaned  back  into 
his  chair.  Hendricks  watched  him,  thinking  of  the 
stories  told  about  his  missionary  days  among  savage 
and  barbarian  tribes. 

'  Born  of  the  vital  landscape,  I  suppose  ?  '  he 
asked.  '  Wind  and  frost  and  blazing  sun.  Their 
wild  energy,  I  mean,  is  due  to ' 

A  gesture  from  the  old  man  stopped  him.  *  You 
know  who  started  them  upon  their  wild  perform- 
ances,' he  said  gravely  in  a  lower  voice  ;  '  you  know 
how  that  ambitious  renegade  priest  from  the  Valais 
chose  them  for  his  nucleus,  then  died  before  he  could 
lead  them  out,  trained  and  competent,  upon  his 
strange  campaign  ?  You  heard  the  story  when  you 
were  with  me  as  a  boy ?  ' 

'  I  remember  Marston,'  put  in  the  other,  uncom- 
monly interested,  '  Marston — the  boy  who '     He 

stopped  because  he  hardly  knew  how  to  continue. 
There  was  a  minute's  silence.  But  it  was  not  an 
empty  silence,  though  no  word  broke  it.  Leysin's 
face  was  a  study. 

'  Ah,  Marston,  yes,'  he  said  slowly,  without  look- 
ing up  ;  '  you  remember  him.  But  that  is  at  my 
door,  too,  I  suppose.  His  father  was  ignorant  and 
obstinate  ;  I  might  have  saved  him  otherwise.'  He 
seemed  talking  to  himself  rather  than  to  his  listener. 
Pain  showed  in  the  lines  about  the  rugged  mouth. 
'  There  was  no  one,  you  see,  who  knew  how  to  direct 
the  great  life  that  woke  in  the  lad.  He  took  it  back 
with  him,  and  turned  it  loose  into  all  manner  of 
useless  enterprises,  and  the  doctors  mistook  his  abrupt 
and  fierce  ambitions  for — for  the  hysteria  which  they 
called  the  vestibule  of  lunacy.   .   .   .  Yet  small  char- 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE    23 

acters  may  have  big  ideas.  .  .  .  They  didn't  under- 
stand, of  course.  .  .  .  It  was  sad,  sad,  sad.'  He  hid 
his  face  in  his  hands  a  moment. 

'  Marston  went  wrong,  then,  in  the  end  ? '  for 
the  other's  manner  suggested  disaster  of  some  kind. 
Hendricks  asked  it  in  a  whisper.  Leysin  uncovered 
his  face,  looped  his  neck  with  one  finger,  and  pointed 
to  the  ceiling. 

'  Hanged  himself  !  '  murmured  Hendricks, 
shocked. 

The  Pasteur  nodded,  but  there  was  impatience, 
half  anger  in  his  tone. 

*  They  checked  it,  kept  it  in.  Of  course,  it  tore 
him!' 

The  two  men  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  for  a 
moment,  and  something  in  the  younger  of  them 
shrank.  This  was  all  beyond  his  ken  a  little.  An 
odd  hint  of  bleak  and  cruel  reality  was  in  the  air, 
making  him  shiver  along  nerves  that  were  normally 
inactive.  The  uneasiness  he  felt  about  Lord  Ernie 
became  alarm.     His  conscience  pricked  him. 

'  More  than  he  could  assimilate,'  continued  Leysin. 
'  It  broke  him.  Yet,  had  outlets  been  provided,  had 
he  been  taught  how  to  use  it,  this  elemental  energy 

drawn    direct    from    Nature '      He    broke    off 

abruptly,  struck  perhaps  by  the  expression  in  his 
listener's  eyes.  '  It  seems  incredible,  doesn't  it,  in 
the  twentieth  century  ?     I  know.' 

'  Evil  ?  '  asked  Hendricks,  stammering  rather. 

'  Why  evil  ?  '  was  the  impatient  reply.  '  How 
can  any  force  be  evil?  That's  merely  a  question 
of  direction.' 

'  And  the  priest  who  discovered  these  forces  and 
taught  their  use,  then ?  ' 

'  Was  genuinely  spiritual  and  followed  the  truth 


24  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

in  his  own  way.  He  was  not  necessarily  evil.'  The 
little  Pasteur  spoke  with  vehemence.  '  You  talk  like 
the  religion-primers  in  the  kindergarten/  he  went  on. 
'  Listen.  This  man,  sick  and  weary  of  his  lukewarm 
flock,  sought  vital,  stalwart  systems  who  might  be 
clean  enough  to  use  the  elemental  powers  he  had 
discovered  how  to  attract.  Only  the  bias  of  the 
users  could  make  it  "  evil  "  by  wrong  use.  His  idea 
was  big  and  even  holy — to  train  a  corps  that  might 
regenerate  the  world.  And  he  chose  unreasoning, 
unintellectual  types  with  a  purpose — primitive,  giant 
men  who  could  assimilate  the  force  without  risk  of 
being  shattered.  Under  his  direction  he  intended  they 
should  prove  as  effective  as  the  twelve  disciples  of  old 
who  were  fisher-folk.     And,  had  he  gone  on ' 

*  He,  too,  failed  then  ? '  asked  the  other,  whose 
tangled  thoughts  struggled  with  incredulity  and  belief 
as  he  heard  this  strange  new  thing.  *  He  died,  you 
mean  ? ' 

'  Maison  de  santej  was  the  laconic  reply,  '  strait- 
waistcoats,  padded  cells,  and  the  rest  ;  but  still  alive, 
I'm  told.     It  was  more  than  he  could  manage.' 

It  was  a  startling  story,  even  in  this  brief  outline, 
deep  suggestion  in  it.  The  tutor's  sense  of  being 
out  of  his  depth  increased.  After  nine  months  with 
a  lifeless,  devitalised  human  being,  this  was — well,  he 
seemed  to  have  fallen  in  his  sleep  from  a  comfortable 
bed  into  a  raging  mountain  torrent.  Strong  currents 
rushed  through  and  over  him.  The  lonely,  peaceful 
village  outside,  sleeping  beneath  the  stars,  heightened 
the  contrast. 

'Suppressed  or  misdirected  energy  again,  I  suppose/ 
he  said  in  a  low  tone,  respecting  his  companion's 
emotion.  '  And  these  mountain  men,'  he  asked 
abruptly,  '  do  they  still  keep  up  their — practices  ? ' 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     25 

1  Their  ceremonies,  yes,'  corrected  the  other, 
master  of  himself  again.  '  Turbulent  moments  of 
nature,  storms  and  the  like,  stir  them  to  clumsy 
rehearsals  of  once  vital  rituals  —  not  entirely  in- 
effective, even  in  their  incompleteness,  but  dangerous 
for  that  very  reason.  This  joran,  for  instance,  in- 
variably communicates  something  of  its  atmospherical 
energy  to  themselves.  They  light  their  fires  as  of 
old.  They  blunder  through  what  they  remember 
of  his  ceremonies.  With  the  glasses  you  may  see 
them  in  their  dozens,  men  and  women,  leaping  and 
dancing.  It's  an  amazing  sight,  great  beauty  in  it, 
impossible  to  witness  even  from  a  distance  without 
feeling  the  desire  to  take  part  in  it.  Even  my 
people  feel  it — the  only  time  they  ever  get  alive,' — 
he  jerked  his  big  head  contemptuously  towards  the 
street — '  or  feel  desire  to  act.  And  some  one  from 
the  heights — a  messenger  perhaps — will  be  down 
later,  this  very  evening  probably,  on  the  hunt ' 

'  On  the  hunt  ? '  Hendricks  asked  it  half  below 
his  breath.  He  felt  a  touch  of  awe  as  he  heard  this 
experienced,  genuinely  religious  man  speak  with  con- 
viction of  such  curious  things.  '  On  the  hunt  ? '  he 
repeated  more  eagerly. 

'  Messengers  do  come  down,'  was  the  reply.  *  A 
living  belief  always  seeks  to  increase,  to  grow,  to 
add  to  itself.  Where  there's  conviction  there's 
always  propaganda.' 

'Ah,  converts ?' 

Leysin  shrugged  his  big  black  shoulders.  '  Desire 
to  add  to  their  number — desire  to  save,  he  said. 
'The  energy  they  absorb  overflows,  that's  all.' 

The  Englishman  debated  several  questions  vaguely 
in  his  mind  ;  only  his  mind,  being  disturbed,  could 
not  hold  the  balance  exactly  true.     Leysin's  influence, 


26  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

as  of  old,  was  upon  him.  A  possibility,  remote, 
seductive,  dangerous,  began  to  beckon  to  him,  but 
from  somewhere  just  outside  his  reasoning  mind. 

1  And  they  always  know  when  one  of  their  kind 
is  near,'  the  voice  slipped  in  between  his  tumbling 
thoughts,  '  as  though  they  get  it  instinctively  from 
these  universal  elements  they  worship.  They  select 
their  recruits  with  marvellous  judgment  and  pre- 
cision. No  messenger  ever  goes  back  alone  ;  nor 
has  a  recruit  ever  been  known  to  return  to  the  lazy 
squalor  of  the  conditions  whence  he  escaped.' 

The  younger  man  sat  upright  in  his  chair,  suddenly 
alert,  and  the  gesture  that  he  made  unconsciously 
might  have  been  read  by  a  keen  psychiatrist  as 
evidence  of  mental  self-defence.  He  felt  the 
forbidden  impulse  in  him  gathering  force,  and  tried 
to  call  a  halt.  At  any  rate,  he  called  upon  the  other 
man  to  be  explicit.  He  enquired  point-blank  what 
this  religion  of  the  heights  might  be.  What  were 
these  elements  these  people  worshipped  ?  In  what 
did  their  wild  ceremonies  consist  ? 

And  Leysin,  breaking  bounds,  let  his  speech  burst 
forth  in  a  stream  of  explanation,  learned  of  actual 
knowledge,  as  he  claimed,  and  uttered  with  a 
vehement  conviction  that  produced  an  undeniable 
effect  upon  his  astonished  listener.  Told  by  no 
dreamer,  but  by  a  righteous  man  who  lived,  not 
merely  preached  his  certain  faith,  Hendricks,  before 
the  half  was  heard,  forgot  what  age  and  land  he 
dwelt  in.  Whole  blocks  of  conventional  belief 
crumbled  and  fell  away.  Brick  walls  erected  by 
routine  to  mark  narrow  paths  of  proper  conduct — 
safe,  moral,  advisable  conduct — thawed  and  vanished. 
Through  the  ruins,  scrambling  at  him  from  huge 
horizons  never  recognised   before,  came  all  manner 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     27 

of  marvellous  possibilities.  The  little  confinement 
of  modern  thought  appalled  him  suddenly.  Leysin 
spoke  slowly,  said  little,  was  not  even  speculative.  It 
was  no  mere  magic  of  words  that  made  the  dim-lit 
study  swim  these  deep  waters  beyond  the  ripple  of 
pert  creeds,  but  rather  the  overwhelming  sense  of 
sure  conviction  driving  behind  the  statements.  The 
little  man  had  witnessed  curious  things,  yes,  in  his 
missionary  days,  and  that  he  had  found  truth  in 
them  in  place  of  ignorant  nonsense  was  remarkable 
enough.  That  silly  superstitions  prevalent  among 
older  nations  could  be  signs  really  of  their  former 
greatness,  linked  mightily  close  to  natural  forces,  was 
a  startling  notion,  but  it  paved  the  way  in  Hendricks' 
receptive  mind  just  then  for  the  belief  that  certain 
so-called  elements  might  be  worshipped — known 
intimately,  that  is — to  the  uplifting  advantage  of 
the  worshippers.  And  what  elements  more  suitable 
for  adoring  imitation  than  wind  and  fire  ?  For  in  a 
human  body  the  first  signs  of  what  men  term  life 
are  heat  which  is  combustion,  and  breath  which  is 
a  measure  of  wind.  Life  means  fire,  drawn  first  from 
the  sun,  and  breathing,  borrowed  from  the  omnipresent 
air  ;  there  might  credibly  be  ways  of  assaulting  these 
elements  and  taking  heaven  by  storm ;  of  seizing 
from  their  inexhaustible  stores  an  abnormal  measure, 
of  straining  this  huge  raw  supply  into  effective 
energy  for  human  use — vitality.  Living  with  fire 
and  wind  in  their  most  active  moments ;  closely 
imitating  their  movements,  following  in  their  foot- 
steps, understanding  their  '  laws  of  being,'  going 
identically  with  them  —  there  lay  a  hint  of  the 
method.  It  was  once,  when  men  were  primitively 
close  to  Nature,  instinctual  knowledge.  The  cere- 
mony was   the  teaching.     The  Powers   of  fire,  the 


28  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

Principalities  of  air,  existed  ;  and  humanity  could 
know  their  qualities  by  the  ritual  of  imitation,  could 
actually  absorb  the  fierce  enthusiasm  of  flame  and 
the  tireless  energy  of  wind.  Such  transference  was 
conceivable. 

Ley  sin,  at  any  rate,  somehow  made  it  so.  His 
description  of  what  he  had  personally  witnessed, 
both  in  wilder  lands  and  here  in  this  little  mountain 
range  of  middle  Europe,  had  a  reality  in  it  that  was 
upsetting  to  the  last  degree.  '  There  is  nothing 
more  difficult  to  believe,'  he  said,  '  yet  more  certainly 
true,  than  the  effect  of  these  singular  elemental  rites.' 
He  laughed  a  short  dry  laugh.  '  The  mediaeval 
superstition  that  a  witch  could  raise  a  storm  is  but  a 
remnant  of  a  once  completely  efficacious  system,'  he 
concluded,  *  though  how  that  strange  being,  the 
Valais  priest,  rediscovered  the  process  and  introduced 
it  here,  I  have  never  been  able  to  ascertain.  That  he 
did  so  results  have  proved.  At  any  rate,  it  lets  in 
life,  life  moreover  in  astonishing  abundance  ;  though, 
whether  for  destruction  or  regeneration,  depends, 
obviously,  upon  the  use  the  recipient  puts  it  to. 
That's  where  direction  comes  in.' 

The  beckoning  impulse  in  the  tutor's  bewildered 
thoughts  drew  closer.  The  moment  for  communi- 
cating it  had  come  at  last.  Without  more  ado 
he  took  the  opening.  He  told  his  companion  the 
incident  in  the  village  street,  the  boy's  abrupt  ex- 
citement, his  new-found  energy,  the  curious  words 
he  used,  the  independence  and  vitality  of  his  attitude. 
He  told  also  of  his  parentage,  of  his  mother's  dis- 
abilities, his  craving  for  rushing  air  in  abundance,  his 
love  of  fire  for  its  own  sake,  of  his  magnificent 
physical  machinery,  yet  of  his  uselessness. 

And  Leysin,  as  he  listened,  seemed  built  on  wires. 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     29 

Searching  questions  shot  forth  like  blows  into  the 
other's  mind.  The  Pasteur's  sudden  increase  of 
enthusiasm  was  infectious.  He  leaped  intuitively  to 
the  thing  in  Hendricks'  thought.  He  understood 
the  beckoning. 

The  tutor  answered  the  questions  as  best  he  could, 
aware  of  the  end  in  view  with  trepidation  and  a  kind 
of  mental  breathlessness.  Yes,  unquestionably,  Bindy 
had  exchanged  communication  of  some  sort  with  the 
man,  though  his  excitement  had  been  evident  even 
sooner. 

'  And  you  saw  this  man  yourself? '  Leysin  pressed 
him. 

'  Indubitably — a  tall  and  hurrying  figure  in  the 
dusk.' 

'  He  brought  energy  with  him  ?  The  boy  felt  it 
and  responded  ? ' 

Hendricks  nodded.  '  Became  quite  unmanageable 
for  some  minutes,'  he  replied. 

1  He  assimilated  it  though  ?  There  was  no  distress 
exactly  ? '  Leysin  asked  sharply. 

1  None — that  I  could  see.  Pleasurable  excitement, 
something  aggressive,  a  rather  wild  enthusiasm.  His 
will  began  to  act.  He  used  that  curious  phrase  about 
wind  and  fire.  He  turned  alive.  He  wanted  to 
follow  the  man ' 

'  And  the  face — how  would  you  describe  it  ?  Did 
it  bring  terror,  I  mean,  or  confidence  ? ' 

'  Dark  and  splendid,'  answered  the  other  as  truth- 
fully as  he  could.  '  In  a  certain  sense,  rushing, 
tempestuous,  yet  stern  rather.' 

*  A  face  like  the  heights,'  suggested  Leysin  im- 
patiently, '  a  windy,  fiery  aspect  in  it,  eh  ? ' 

'  The  man  swept  past  like  the  spirit  of  a  storm  in 
imaginative  poetry '     began  the  tutor,   hunting 


3o  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

through  his  thoughts  for  adequate  description,  then 
stopped  as  he  saw  that  his  companion  had  risen  from 
his  chair  and  begun  to  pace  the  floor. 

The  Pasteur  paused  a  moment  beside  him,  hands 
thrust  deep  into  his  pockets,  head  bent  down,  and 
shoulders  forward.  For  twenty  seconds  he  stared 
into  his  visitor's  face  intently,  as  though  he  would 
force  into  him  the  thought  in  his  own  mind.  His 
features  seemed  working  visibly,  yet  behind  a  mask 
of  strong  control. 

4  Don't  you  see  what  it  is  ?  Don't  you  see  ? '  he 
said  in  a  lower,  deeper  tone.  '  They  knew.  Even 
from  a  distance  they  were  aware  of  his  coming.  He 
is  one  of  themselves.'  And  he  straightened  up  again. 
*  He  belongs  to  them.' 

'  One  of  them  ?  One  of  the  wind-and-fire  lot  ?  ' 
the  tutor  stammered. 

The  restless  little  man  returned  to  his  chair  oppo- 
site, full  of  suppressed  and  vigorous  movement,  as 
though  he  were  strung  on  springs. 

'  He's  of  them,'  he  continued,  '  but  in  a  peculiar 
and  particular  sense.  More  than  merely  a  possible 
recruit,  his  empty  organism  would  provide  the  very 
link  they  need,  the  perfect  conduit.'  He  watched 
his  companion's  face  with  careful  keenness.  '  In  the 
country  where  I  first  experienced  this  marvellous 
thing,'  he  added  significantly,  '  he  would  have  been 
set  apart  as  the  offering,  the  sacrifice,  as  they  call  it 
there.  The  tribe  would  have  chosen  him  with 
honour.  He  would  have  been  the  special  bait  to 
attract.' 

'  Death  ? '  whispered  the  other. 

But  Leysin  shook  his  head.  '  In  the  end,  perhaps,' 
he  replied  darkly,  '  for  the  vessel  might  be  torn  and 
shattered.     But    at    first    charged   to  the   brim   and 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     31 

crammed  with  energy  —  with  transformed  vitality 
they  could  draw  into  themselves  through  him.  A 
monster,  if  you  will,  but  to  them  a  deity  ;  and 
superhuman,  in  our  little  sense,  most  certainly.' 

Then  Hendricks  faltered  inwardly  and  turned 
away.  No  words  came  to  him  at  the  moment.  In 
silence  the  minds  of  the  two  men,  one  a  religious,  the 
other  a  secular  teacher,  and  each  with  a  burden  of 
responsibility  to  the  race,  kept  pace  together  without 
speech.  The  religious,  however,  outstripped  the 
pedagogue.  What  he  next  said  seemed  a  little  dis- 
connected with  what  had  preceded  it,  although 
Hendricks  caught  the  drift  easily  enough  —  and 
shuddered. 

'  An  organism  needing  heat,'  observed  Leysin 
calmly,  '  can  absorb  without  danger  what  would 
destroy  a  normal  person.  Alcohol,  again,  neither 
injures  nor  intoxicates — up  to  a  given  point — the 
system  that  really  requires  it.' 

The  tutor,  perplexed  and  sorely  tempted,  felt 
that  he  drifted  with  a  tide  he  found  it  difficult  to 
stem. 

'  Up  to  a  point,'  he  repeated.  '  That's  true,  of 
course.' 

'  Up  to  a  given  point,'  echoed  the  other,  with 
significance  that  made  his  voice  sound  solemn.  '  Then 
rescue — in  the  nick  of  time.' 

He  waited  two  full  minutes  and  more  for  an 
answer  ;  then,  as  none  was  audible,  he  said  another 
thing.  His  eyes  were  so  intent  upon  the  tutor's 
that  the  latter  raised  his  own  unwillingly,  and 
understood  thus  all  that  lay  behind  the  pregnant 
little  sentence. 

'  With  a  number  it  would  not  be  possible,  but 
with    an    individual  it   could    be    done.      Brim   the 


32  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

empty   vessel    first.     Then    rescue — in    the   nick   of 
time  !     Regeneration  !  ' 


IV 

In  the  Englishman's  mind  there  came  a  crash,  as 
though  something  fell.  There  was  dust,  confusion, 
noise.  Moral  platitudes  shouted  at  conventional 
admonitions.  Warnings  laughed  and  copy  -  book 
maxims  shrivelled  up.  Above  the  lot,  rising  with  a 
touch  of  grandeur,  stood  the  pulpit  figure  of  the 
little  Pasteur,  his  big  face  shining  clear  through  all 
the  turmoil,  strength  and  vision  in  the  flaming  eyes — 
a  commanding  outline  with  spiritual  audacity  in  his 
heart.  And  Hendricks  saw  then  that  the  man  him- 
self was  standing  erect  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
one  finger  raised  to  command  attention — listening. 
Some  considerable  interval  must  have  passed  while  he 
struggled  with  his  inner  confusion. 

Leysin  stood,  intently  listening,  his  big  head 
throwing  a  grotesque  shadow  on  wall  and  ceiling. 

'  Hark  !  '  he  exclaimed,  half  whispering.  '  Do 
you  hear  that  ?      Listen.' 

A  deep  sound,  confused  and  roaring,  passed 
across  the  night,  far  away,  and  slightly  booming. 
It  entered  the  little  room  so  that  the  air  seemed  to 
tremble  a  moment.  To  Hendricks  it  held  something 
ominous. 

'  The  wind,'  he  whispered,  as  the  noise  died  off 
into  the  distance  ;  '  yet  a  moment  ago  the  night  was 
still  enough.  The  stars  were  shining.'  There  was 
tense  excitement  in  the  room  just  then.  It  showed 
in  Leysin's  face,  which  had  gone  white  as  a  cloth. 
Hendricks  himself  felt  extraordinarily  stirred. 

'  Not  wind,  but  human  voices,'  the  older  man  said 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     33 

quickly.  '  It's  shouting.  Listen  !  '  and  his  eyes  ran 
round  the  room,  coming  to  rest  finally  in  a  corner 
where  his  hat  and  cloak  hung  from  a  nail.  A  gesture 
accompanied  the  look.  He  wanted  to  be  out.  The 
tutor  half  rose  to  take  his  leave.  '  You  have  duties 
to-night  elsewhere,'  he  stammered.  '  I'm  forgetting.' 
His  own  instinct  was  to  get  away  himself  with  Bindy 
by  the  first  early  diligence.  He  was  afraid  of  yielding. 
1  Hush ! '  whispered  Leysin  peremptorily.  '  Listen  ! ' 
He  opened  the  window  at  the  top,  and  through 
the  crack,  where  the  stars  peeped  brightly,  there 
came,  louder  than  before,  the  uproar  of  human  voices 
floating  through  the  night  from  far  away.  The  air 
of  the  great  pine  forests  came  in  with  it.  Hendricks 
listened  intently  a  moment.  He  positively  jumped 
to  feel  a  hand  upon  his  arm.  Leysin's  big  head  was 
thrust  close  up  into  his  face. 

'  That's  the  commotion  in  the  village,' he  whispered. 
'  A  messenger  has  come  and  gone  ;  some  one  has  gone 
back  with  him.  To-night  I  shall  be  needed — down 
here,  but  to-morrow  night  when  the  great  ritual  takes 

place — up  there ! ' 

Hendricks  tried  to  push  him  away  so  as  not  to 
hear  the  words  ;  but  the  little  man  seemed  immovable 
as  a  rock.  The  impulse  remained  probably  in  the 
mind  without  making  the  muscles  work.  For  the 
tutor,  sorely  tempted,  longed  to  dare,  yet  faltered  in 
his  will. 

' if  you  felt  like  taking  the  risk,'  the  words 

continued  seductively,  '  we  might  place  the  empty 
vessel  near  enough  to  let  it  fill,  then  rescue  it, 
charged  with  energy,  in  the  nick  of  time.'  And  the 
Pasteur's  eyes  were  aglow  with  enthusiasm,  his  voice 
even  trembling  at  the  thought  of  high  adventure  to 
save  another's  soul. 

D 


34  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

'  Watch  merely  ? '  Hendricks  heard  his  own  voice 
whisper,  hardly  aware  that  he  was  saying  it,  *  without 
taking  part  ? '  He  said  it  thickly,  stupidly,  a  man 
wavering  and  unsure  of  himself.  '  It  would  be  an 
experience,'  he  stammered.     '  I've  never ' 

'  Merely  watch,  yes ;  look  on  ;  let  him  see,' 
interrupted  the  other  with  eagerness.  '  We  must  be 
very  careful.     It's  worth  trying — a  last  resort.' 

They  still  stood  close  together.  Hendricks  felt 
the  little  man's  breath  on  his  face  as  he  peered 
up  at  him. 

'  I  admit  the  chance,'  he  began  weakly. 

'  There  is  no  chance,'  was  the  vigorous  reply, 
*  there  is  only  Providence.     You  have  been  guided.' 

'  But  as  to  risk  and  failure,  what  of  them  ? 
What's  involved  ? '  he  asked,  recklessness  increasing 
in  him. 

'  New  wine  in  old  bottles,'  was  the  answer.  *  But 
here,  you  tell  me,  the  vessel  is  not  damaged,  but 
merely  empty.  The  machinery  is  all  right.  If  he 
merely  watches,  as  from  a  little  distance ' 

'Yes,  yes,  the  machinery  is  there,  I  agree.  The 
boy  has  breeding,  health,  and  all  the  physical  qualities 
— good  blood  and  nerves  and  muscles.  It's  only  that 
life  refuses  to  stay  and  drive  them.'  His  heart  beat 
with  violence  even  as  he  said  it  ;  he  felt  the  energy 
and  zeal  from  the  older  man  pour  into  him.  He 
was  realising  in  himself  on  a  smaller  scale  what  might 
take  place  with  the  boy  in  large.  But  still  he  shrank. 
Leysin  for  the  moment  said  no  more.  His  spiritual 
discernment  was  equal  to  his  boldness.  Having 
planted  the  seed,  he  left  it  to  grow  or  die.  The 
decision  was  not  for  him. 

In  the  light  of  the  single  lamp  the  two  men  sat 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     35 

facing  each  other,  listening,  waiting,  while  Leysin 
talked  occasionally,  but  in  the  main  kept  silence. 
Some  time  passed,  though  how  long  the  tutor  could 
not  say.  In  his  mind  was  wild  confusion.  How  could 
he  justify  such  a  mad  proposal  ?  Yet  how  could  he 
refuse  the  opening,  preposterous  though  it  seemed  ? 
The  enticement  was  very  great ;  temptation  rushed 
upon  him.  Striving  to  recall  his  normal  world,  he 
found  it  difficult.  The  face  of  the  old  Marquess 
seemed  a  mere  lifeless  picture  on  a  wall — it  watched 
but  could  not  interfere.  Here  was  an  opportunity 
to  take  or  leave.  He  fought  the  battle  in  terms 
of  naked  souls,  while  the  ordinary  four-cornered 
morality  hid  its  face  awhile.  He  heard  himself 
explaining,  delaying,  hedging,  half- toying  with  the 
problem.  But  the  redemption  of  a  soul  was  at 
stake,  and  he  tried  to  forget  the  environment  and 
conditions  of  modern  thought  and  belief.  Sentences 
flashed  at  him  out  of  the  battle  :  '  I  must  take  him 
back  worse  than  when  I  started,  or — what  ?  A 
violent  being  like  Marston,  or  a  redeemed,  converted 
system  with  new  energy  ?  It's  a  chance,  and  my 
last/  Moreover,  odd,  half-comic  detail — there  was 
the  support  of  the  Church,  of  a  protestant  clergy- 
man whose  fundamental  beliefs  were  similar  to  the 
evangelical  persuasions  of  the  boy's  family.  Conver- 
sion, as  demoniacal  possession,  were  both  traditions  of 
the  blood.  After  all,  the  old  Marquess  might  under- 
stand and  approve.  '  You  took  the  opening  God  set 
in  your  way  in  His  wisdom.  You  showed  faith  and 
courage.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  condemn  you.'  The 
picture  on  the  wall  looked  down  at  him  and  spoke 
the  words. 

The  wild   hypothesis  of  the  intrepid  little  mis- 
sionary-pasteur    swept     him     with    an     effect     like 


36  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

hypnotism.  Then,  suddenly,  something  in  him 
seemed  to  decide  finally  for  itself.  He  flung  him- 
self, morality  and  all,  upon  this  vigorous  other 
personality.  He  leaned  across  the  table,  his  face 
close  to  the  lamp.     His  voice  shook  as  he  spoke. 

*  Would  you  ?  '  he  asked — then  knew  the  question 
foolish,  and  that  such  a  man  would  shrink  from 
nothing  where  the  redemption  of  a  soul  was  at  stake ; 
knew  also  that  the  question  was  proof  that  his  own 
decision  was  already  made. 

There  was  something  grotesque  almost  in  the 
torrent  of  colloquial  French  Leysin  proceeded  to  pour 
forth,  while  the  other  sat  listening  in  amazement, 
half  ashamed  and  half  exhilarated.  He  looked  at 
the  stalwart  figure,  the  wiry  bowed  legs  as  he  paced 
the  floor,  the  shortness  of  the  coat-sleeves  and  the 
absence  of  shirt-cuffs  round  the  powerful  lean  wrists. 
It  was  a  great  fighting  man  he  watched,  a  man  afraid 
of  nothing  in  heaven  or  earth,  prepared  to  lead  a 
forlorn  hope  into  a  hostile  unknown  land.  And  the 
sight,  combined  with  what  he  heard,  set  the  seal  upon 
his  half-hearted  decision.  He  would  take  the  risk 
and  go. 

*  Pfui  ! '  exclaimed  the  little  Pasteur  as  though  it 
might  have  been  an  oath,  his  loud  whisper  breaking 
through  into  a  guttural  sound,  '  pfui  !  Bah  !  Would 
that  my  people  had  machinery  like  that  so  that  I 
could  use  it  !  I've  no  material  to  work  on,  no  force 
to  direct,  nothing  but  heavy,  sodden  clay.  Jelly  ! ' 
he  cried,  l  negative,  useless,  lukewarm  stuff  at  best.' 
He  lowered  his  voice  suddenly,  so  as  to  listen  at  the 
same  time.  '  I  might  as  well  be  a  baker  kneading 
dough,'  he  continued.  '  They  drink  and  yield  and 
drink  again  ;  they  never  attack  and  drive  ;  they're 
not  worth  labouring  to  save.'     He  struck  the  wooden 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     37 

table  with  his  fist,  making  the  lamp  rattle,  while  his 
listener  started  and  drew  back.  '  What  good  can 
weak  souls,  though  spotless,  be  to  God  ?  The  best 
have  long  ago  gone  up  to  them,'  and  he  jerked  his 
leonine  old  head  towards  the  mountains.  '  Where 
there's  life  there's  hope,'  he  stamped  his  foot  as  he 
said  it,  '  but  the  lukewarm — pfui ! — I  will  spue  them 
out  of  my  mouth  ! ' 

He  paused  by  the  window  a  moment,  listened 
attentively,  then  resumed  his  pacing  to  and  fro. 
Clearly,  he  longed  for  action.  Indifference,  half- 
heartedness  had  no  place  in  his  composition.  And 
Hendricks  felt  his  own  slower  blood  take  fire  as  he 
listened. 

'  Ah  ! '  cried  Leysin  louder,  '  what  a  battle  I  could 
fight  up  there  for  God,  could  I  but  live  among  them, 
stem  the  flow  of  their  dark  strong  vitality,  then  twist 
it  round  and  up,  up,  up  !  '  And  he  jerked  his  finger 
skywards.  '  It's  the  great  sinners  we  want,  not  the 
meek-faced  saints.  There's  energy  enough  among 
those  devils  to  bring  a  whole  Canton  to  the  great 
Footstool,  could  I  but  direct  it.'  He  paused  a 
moment,  standing  over  his  astonished  visitor.  '  Bring 
the  boy  up  with  you,  and  let  him  drink  his  fill.  And 
pray,  pray,  I  say,  that  he  become  a  violent  sinner 
first  in  order  that  later  there  shall  be  something  worth 
offering  to  God.     Over  one  sinner  that  repenteth ' 

A  rapid,  nervous  knocking  interrupted  the  flow 
of  words,  and  the  figure  of  a  woman  stood  upon  the 
threshold.  With  the  opening  of  the  door  came  also 
again  the  roaring  from  the  night  outside.  Hendricks 
saw  the  tall,  somewhat  dishevelled  outline  of  the  wife 
— he  remembered  her  vaguely,  though  she  could 
hardly  see  him  now  in  his  darker  corner — and  recalled 
the  fact  that  she  had  been  sent  out  to  Leysin  in  his 


3  8  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

missionary  days,  a  worthy,  illiterate,  but  adoring 
woman.  She  wore  a  shawl,  her  hair  was  untidy,  her 
eyes  fixed  and  staring.  Her  husband's  sturdy  little 
figure,  as  he  rose,  stood  level  with  her  chin. 

'  You  hear  it,  Jules  ? '  she  whispered  thickly. 
'  The  joran  has  brought  them  down.  You'll  be 
needed  in  the  village.'  She  said  it  anxiously,  though 
Hendricks  understood  the  patois  with  difficulty. 
They  talked  excitedly  together  a  moment  in  the 
doorway,  their  outlines  blocked  against  the  corridor 
where  a  single  oil  lamp  flickered.  She  warned,  urging 
something ;  he  expostulated.  Fragments  reached 
Hendricks  in  his  corner.  Clearly  the  woman  wor- 
shipped her  husband  like  a  king,  yet  feared  for  his 
safety.  He,  for  his  part,  comforted  her,  scolded  a 
little,  argued,  told  her  to  *  believe  in  God  and  go 
back  to  bed.' 

'  They'll  take  you  too,  and  you'll  never  return. 
It's  not  your  parish  anyhow  .  .  .'  a  touch  of 
anguish  in  her  tone. 

But  Leysin  was  impatient  to  be  off.  He  led  her 
down  the  passage.  *  My  parish  is  wherever  I  can 
help.  I  belong  to  God.  Nothing  can  harm  me 
but  to  leave  undone  the  work  He  gives  me.'  The 
steps  went  farther  away  as  he  guided  her  to  the 
stairs.  Outside  the  roar  of  voices  rose  and  fell. 
Wind  brought  the  drifting  sound,  wind  carried  it 
away.     It  was  like  the  thunder  of  the  sea. 

And  the  Englishman,  using  the  little  scene  as  a 
flashlight  upon  his  own  attitude,  saw  it  for  an  instant 
as  God  might  have  seen  it.  Leysin's  point  of  view 
was  high,  scanning  a  very  wide  horizon.  His  eye 
being  single,  the  whole  body  was  full  of  light.  The 
risk,  it  suddenly  seemed,  was — nothing  ;  to  shirk  it, 
indeed,  the  merest  cowardice. 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     39 

He  went  up  and  seized  the  Pasteur's  hand. 

i  To-morrow,'  he  said,  a  trifle  shakily  perhaps, 
yet  looking  straight  into  his  eyes.  '  If  we  stay  over 
— I'll  bring  the  lad  with  me — provided  he  comes 
willingly.' 

c  You  will  stay  over,'  interrupted  the  other  with 
decision.  '  Come  to  supper  at  seven.  Come  in  moun- 
tain boots.  Use  persuasion,  but  not  force.  He  shall 
see  it  from  a  distance — without  taking  part.' 

*  From  a  distance — yes,'  the  tutor  repeated,  *  but 
without  taking  part.' 

'  I  know  the  signs,'  the  Pasteur  broke  in  signifi- 
cantly. '  We  can  rescue  him  in  the  nick  of  time — 
charged  with  energy  and  life,  yet  before  the  danger 
gets ' 

A  sudden  clangour  of  bells  drowned  the  whisper- 
ing voice,  cutting  the  sentence  in  the  middle.  It 
was  like  an  alarm  of  fire.  Leysin  sprang  sharply 
round. 

'  The  signal ! '  he  cried  ;  '  the  signal  from  the 
church.  Some  one's  been  taken.  I  must  go  at  once 
— I  shall  be  needed.'  He  had  his  hat  and  cloak  on 
in  a  moment,  was  through  the  passage  and  into  the 
street,  Hendricks  following  at  his  heels.  The  whole 
place  seemed  alive.  Yet  the  roadway  was  deserted, 
and  no  lights  showed  at  the  windows  of  the  houses. 
Only  from  the  farther  end  of  the  village,  where  stood 
the  cabaret,  came  a  roar  of  voices,  shouting,  crying, 
singing.  The  impression  was  that  the  population 
was  centred  there.  Far  in  the  starry  sky  a  line  of 
fires  blazed  upon  the  heights,  throwing  a  lurid  reflec- 
tion above  the  deep  black  valley.  Excitement  filled 
the  night. 

'  But  how  extraordinary  ! '  exclaimed  Hendricks, 
hurrying   to   overtake   his   alert   companion  ;    '  what 


4o  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

life  there  is  about  !  Everything's  on  the  rush.' 
They  went  faster,  almost  running.  '  I  feel  the  waves 
of  it  beating  even  here.'     He  followed  breathlessly. 

'A  messenger  has  come  —  and  gone,'  replied 
Leysin  in  a  sharp,  decided  voice.  '  What  you  feel 
here  is  but  the  overflow.  This  is  the  aftermath.  I 
must  work  down  here  with  my  people ' 

'  I'll  work  with  you,'  began  the  other.  But  Leysin 
stopped  him. 

'  Keep  yourself  for  to-morrow  night — up  there,' 
he  said  with  grave  authority,  pointing  to  the  fiery 
line  upon  the  heights,  and  at  the  same  time  quicken- 
ing his  pace  along  the  street.  *  At  the  moment,'  he 
cried,  looking  back,  *  your  place  is  yonder.'  He 
jerked  his  head  towards  the  carpenter's  house  among 
the  vineyards.     The  next  minute  he  was  gone. 


And  Hendricks,  accredited  tutor  to  a  sprig  of 
nobility  in  the  twentieth  century,  asked  himself 
suddenly  how  such  things  could  possibly  be.  The 
adventure  took  on  abruptly  a  touch  of  nightmare. 
Only  the  light  in  the  sky  above  the  cabaret  windows, 
and  the  roar  of  voices  where  men  drank  and  sang, 
brought  home  the  reality  of  it  all.  With  a  shudder 
of  apprehension  he  glanced  at  the  lurid  glare  upon 
the  mountains.  He  was  committed  now ;  not 
because  he  had  merely  promised,  but  because  he  had 
definitely  made  up  his  mind. 

Lighting  a  match,  he  saw  by  his  watch  that  the 
visit  had  lasted  over  two  hours.  It  was  after  eleven. 
He  hurried,  letting  himself  in  with  the  big  house- 
key,  and  going  on  tiptoe  up  the  granite  stairs.  In 
his  mind  rose  a  picture  of  the  boy  as  he  had  known 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     41 

him  all  these  weary,  sight-seeing  months — the  mild 
brown  eyes,  the  facile  indolence,  the  pliant,  watery 
emotions  of  the  listless  creature,  but  behind  him 
now,  like  storm  clouds,  the  hopes,  desires,  fears  the 
Pasteur's  talk  had  conjured  up.  The  yearning  to 
save  stirred  strongly  in  his  heart,  and  more  and 
more  of  the  little  man's  reckless  spiritual  audacity 
came  with  it.  His  own  affection  for  the  lad  was 
genuine,  but  impatience  and  adventure  pushed 
eagerly  through  the  tenderness.  If  only,  oh,  if  only 
he  could  put  life  into  that  great  six-foot,  big-boned 
frame  !  Some  energy  as  cf  fire  and  wind  into  that 
inert  machinery  of  mind  and  body  !  The  idea  was 
utterly  incredible,  but  surely  no  harm  could  come 
of  trying  the  experiment.  There  were  the  huge  and 
elemental  forces,  of  course,  in  Nature,  and  if  .  .  . 
A  sound  in  the  bedroom,  as  he  crept  softly  past 
the  door,  caught  his  attention,  and  he  paused  a 
moment  to  listen.  Lord  Ernie  was  not  asleep, 
then,  after  all.  He  wondered  why  the  sound  got 
somehow  at  his  heart.  There  was  shuffling  behind 
the  door  ;  there  was  a  voice,  too — or  was  it  voices  ? 
He  knocked. 

1  Who  is  it  ? '  came  at  once,  in  a  tone  he  hardly 
recognised.  And,  as  he  answered,  '  It's  I,  Mr. 
Hendricks  ;  let  me  in,'  there  followed  a  renewal  of 
the  shuffling,  but  without  the  sound  of  voices,  and 
the  door  flew  open — it  was  not  even  locked.  Lord 
Ernie  stood  before  him,  dressed  to  go  out.  In  the 
faint  starlight  the  tall  ungainly  figure  filled  the  door- 
way, erect  and  huge,  the  shoulders  squared,  the 
trunk  no  longer  drooping.  The  listlessness  was 
gone.  He  stood  upright,  limbs  straight  and  alert  ; 
the  sagging  limp  had  vanished  from  the  knees. 
He  looked,    in    this    semi  -  darkness,    like    another 


42  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

person,  almost  monstrous.  And  the  tutor  drew  back 
instinctively,  catching  an  instant  at  his  breath. 

4  But,  my  dear  boy  !  why  aren't  you  asleep  ?  '  he 
stammered.  He  glanced  half  nervously  about  him. 
1 1  heard  you  talking,  surely  ?  '  He  fumbled  for  a 
match  ;  but,  before  he  found  it,  the  other  had  turned 
on  the  electric  switch.  The  light  flared  out.  There 
was  no  one  else  in  the  room.  c  Is  anything  wrong 
with  you  ?     What's  the  matter  ? ' 

But  the  boy  answered  quietly,  though  in  a  deeper 
voice  than  Hendricks  had  ever  known  in  him  before  : 

'  I'm  all  right  ;  only  I  couldn't  sleep.  I've  been 
watching  those  fires  on  the  mountains.  I — I  wanted 
to  go  out  and  see.' 

He  still  held  the  field-glasses  in  his  hand,  swing- 
ing them  vigorously  by  the  strap.  The  room  was 
littered  with  clothes,  just  unpacked,  the  heavy 
shooting  boots  in  the  middle  of  the  floor ;  and 
Hendricks,  noticing  these  signs,  felt  a  wave  of 
excitement  sweep  through  him,  caught  somehow  from 
the  presence  of  the  boy.  There  was  a  sense  of 
vitality  in  the  room — as  though  a  rush  of  active 
movement  had  just  passed  through  it.  Both  windows 
stood  wide  open,  and  the  roar  of  voices  was  clearly 
audible.     Lord  Ernie  turned  his  head  to  listen. 

'  That's  only  the  village  people  drinking  and 
shouting,'  said  Hendricks,  closely  watching  each 
movement  that  he  made.  '  It's  perfectly  natural, 
Bindy,  that  you  feel  too  excited  to  sleep.  We're  in 
the  mountains.  The  air  stimulates  tremendously — 
it  makes  the  heart  beat  faster.'  He  decided  not  to 
press  the  lad  with  questions. 

'  But  I  never  felt  like  this  in  the  Rockies  or  the 
Himalayas,'  came  the  swift  rejoinder,  as  he  moved  to 
the  window  and  looked  out.     '  There  was  nothing 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     43 

in  India  or  Japan  like  that !  '  He  swept  his  hand 
towards  the  wooded  heights  that  towered  above  the 
village  so  close.  He  talked  volubly.  '  All  those 
things  we  saw  out  there  were  sham — done  on  purpose 
for  tourists.  Up  there  it's  real.  I've  been  watching 
through  the  glasses  till — I  felt  I  simply  must  go  out 
and  join  it.  You  can  see  men  dancing  round  the 
fires,  and  big,  rushing  women.  Oh,  Mr.  Hendricks, 
isn't  it  all  glorious — all  too  glorious  and  ripping  for 
words  !  '     And  his  brown  eyes  shone  like  lamps. 

{ You  mean  that  it's  spontaneous,  natural  ? '  the 
other  guided  him,  welcoming  the  new  enthusiasm,  yet 
still  bewildered  by  the  startling  change.  It  was  not 
mere  nerves  he  saw.     There  was  nothing  morbid  in  it. 

*  They're  doing  it,  I  mean,  because  they  have  to,' 
came  the  decided  answer,  '  and  because  they  feel  it. 
They're  not  just  copying  the  world.'  He  put  his 
hand  upon  the  other's  arm.  There  was  dry  heat 
in  it  that  Hendricks  felt  even  through  his  clothes. 
*  And  that's  what  /  want,'  the  boy  went  on,  raising 
his  voice  ;  'what  I've  always  wanted  without  knowing 
it — real  things  that  can  make  me  alive.  I've  often 
had  it  in  my  dreams,  you  know,  but  now  I've 
found  it.' 

'  But  I  didn't  know.  You  never  told  me  of  those 
dreams.' 

The  boy's  cheeks  flushed,  so  that  the  colour  and 
the  fire  in  his  eyes  made  him  positively  splendid. 
He  answered  slowly,  as  out  of  some  part  he  had 
hitherto  kept  deliberately  concealed. 

'  Because  I  never  could  get  hold  of  it  in  words. 
It  sounded  so  silly  even  to  myself,  and  I  thought 
Father  would  train  it  all  away  and  laugh  at  it.  It's 
awfully  far  down  in  me,  but  it's  so  real  I  knew  it 
must  come  out  one  day,  and  that  I  should  find  it. 


44  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

Oh,  I  say,  Mr.  Hendricks,'  and  he  lowered  his  voice, 
leaning  out  across  the  window-sill  suddenly,  '  that 
fills  me  up  and  feeds  me ' — he  pointed  to  the  heights 
— c  and  gives  me  life.  The  life  I've  seen  till  now 
was  only  a  kind  of  show.  It  starved  me.  I  want  to 
go  up  there  and  feel  it  pouring  through  my  blood.' 
He  filled  his  lungs  with  the  strong  mountain  air,  and 
paused  while  he  exhaled  it  slowly,  as  though  tasting 
it  with  delight  and  understanding.  Then  he  burst 
out  again,  '  I  vote  we  go.  Will  you  come  with 
me  ?     What  d'you  say.     Eh  ?  ' 

They  stared  at  each  other  hard  a  moment.  Some- 
thing as  primitive  and  irresistible  as  love  passed 
through  the  air  between  them.  With  a  great  effort 
the  older  man  kept  the  balance  true. 

*  Not  to-night,  not  now,'  he  said  firmly.  '  It's  too 
late.     To-morrow,  if  you  like — with  pleasure.' 

'  But  to-morrow  night,'  cried  the  boy  with  a  rush, 
'  when  the  fires  are  blazing  and  the  wind  is  loose. 
Not  in  the  stupid  daylight.' 

'All  right.  To-morrow  night.  And  my  old 
friend,  Monsieur  Leysin,  shall  be  our  guide.  He 
knows  the  way,  and  he  knows  the  people  too.' 

Lord  Ernie  seized  his  hands  with  enthusiasm. 
His  vigour  was  so  disconcerting  that  it  seemed  to 
affect  his  physical  appearance.  The  body  grew 
almost  visibly  ;  his  very  clothes  hung  on  him 
differently ;  he  was  no  longer  a  nonentity  yawning 
beneath  an  ancient  pedigree  and  title  ;  he  was  an 
aggressive  personality.  The  boy  in  him  rushed  into 
manhood,  as  it  were,  while  still  retaining  boyish 
speech  and  gesture.  It  was  uncanny.  '  We'll  go 
more  than  once,  I  vote  ;  go  again  and  again.  This 
is  a  place  and  a  half.  It's  my  place  with  a 
vengeance !  ' 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     45 

'  Not  exactly  the  kind  of  place  your  father  would 
wish  you  to  linger  in,'  his  tutor  interrupted.  •  But 
we  might  stay  a  day  or  two — especially  as  you  like 
it  so.' 

'  It's  far  better  than  the  towns  and  the  rotten 
embassies  ;  better  than  fifty  Simlas  and  Bombays  and 
filthy  Cairos,'  cried  the  other  eagerly.  '  It's  just  the 
thing  I  need,  and  when  I  get  home  I'll  show  'em 
something.  I'll  prove  it.  Why,  they  simply  won't 
know  me  ! '  He  laughed,  and  his  face  shone  with  a 
kind  of  vivid  radiance  in  the  glare  of  the  electric 
light.  The  transformation  was  more  than  curious. 
Waiting  a  moment  to  see  if  more  would  follow, 
Hendricks  moved  slowly  then  towards  the  door, 
with  the  remark  that  it  was  advisable  now  to  go 
to  bed  since  they  would  be  up  late  the  following 
night — when  he  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  the 
pillow  and  sheets  were  crumpled  and  that  the  bed 
had  already  been  lain  in.  The  first  suspicion  flashed 
back  upon  him  with  new  certainty. 

Lord  Ernie  was  already  taking  ofT"  his  heavy  coat, 
preparatory  to  undressing.  He  looked  up  quickly  at 
the  altered  tone  of  voice. 

'  Bindy,'  the  tutor  said  with  a  touch  of  gravity, 
'  you  were  alone  just  now — weren't  you — of  course? ' 

The  other  sat  up  from  stooping  over  his  boots. 
With  his  hands  resting  on  the  bed  behind  him,  he 
looked  straight  into  his  companion's  eyes.  Lying 
was  not  among  his  faults.  He  answered  slowly  after 
a  decided  interval. 

1 1 — I  was  asleep,'  he  whispered,  evidently  trying 
to  be  accurate,  yet  hesitating  how  to  describe  the 
thing  he  had  to  say,  '  and  had  a  dream — one  of  my 
real,  vivid  dreams  when  something  happens.  Only, 
this  time,  it   was   more   real   than   ever  before.      It 


46  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

was ' — he  paused,  searching  for  words,  then  added — 
*  sweet  and  awful.' 

And  Hendricks  repeated  the  surprising  sentence. 
'  Sweet  and  awful,  Bindy  !  What  in  the  world  do 
you  mean,  boy  ?  ' 

Lord  Ernie  seemed  puzzled  himself  by  the  choice 
of  words  he  used. 

*  I  don't  know  exactly,'  he  went  on  honestly, 
'  only  I  mean  that  it  was  awfully  real  and  splendid,  a 
bit  of  my  own  life  somewhere — somewhere  else — 
where  it  lies  hidden  away  behind  a  lot  of  days  and 
months  that  choke  it  up.  I  can  never  get  at  it 
except  in  woods  and  places,  quite  alone,  hearing  the 
wind  or  making  fires,  or — in  sleep.'  He  hid  his  face 
in  his  hands  a  moment,  then  looked  up  with  a  hint 
of  censure  in  his  eyes.  '  Why  didn't  you  tell  me 
that  such  things  were  done  ?  You  never  told  me,' 
he  repeated. 

'  I  didn't  know  it  myself  until  this  evening. 
Leysin ' 

'  I  thought  you  knew  everything,'  Lord  Ernie 
broke  in  in  that  same  half-chiding  tone. 

'  Monsieur  Leysin  told  me  to-night  for  the  first 
time,'  said  Hendricks  firmly,  '  that  such  people  and 
such  practices  existed.  Till  now  I  had  never  dreamed 
that  such  superstitions  survived  anywhere  in  the 
world  at  all.'  He  resented  the  reproach.  But  he 
was  also  aware  that  the  boy  resented  his  authority. 
For  the  first  time  his  ascendency  seemed  in  question  ; 
his  voice,  his  eye,  his  manner  did  not  quell  as  formerly. 
'  So  you  mean,  when  you  say  "  sweet  and  awful,"  that 
it  was  very  real  to  you  ? '  he  asked.  He  insisted  now 
with  purpose.      '  Is  that  it,  Bindy  ? ' 

The  other  replied  eagerly  enough.  '  Yes,  that's 
it,  I  think — partly.      This  time   it   was   more   than 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE    47 

dreaming.  It  was  real.  I  got  there.  I  remembered. 
That's  what  I  meant.  And  after  I  woke  up  the 
thing  still  went  on.  The  man  seemed  still  in  the 
room  beside  the  bed,  calling  me  to  get  up  and  go 
with  him ' 

'  Man  !  What  man  ? '  The  tutor  leant  upon 
the  back  of  a  chair  to  steady  himself.  The  wind 
just  then  went  past  the  open  windows  with  a  singing 
rush. 

'  The  dark  man  who  passed  us  in  the  village,  and 
who  pointed  to  the  fires  on  the  heights.  He  came 
with  the  wind,  you  remember.     He  pulled  my  coat.' 

The  boy  stood  up  as  he  said  it.  He  came  across 
the  naked  boarding,  his  step  light  and  dancing. 
'  Fire  that  heats  but  does  not  burn,  and  wind  that 
blows  the  heart  alight,  or  something — I  forget  now 
exactly.  Ton  heard  it  too.'  He  whispered  the  words 
with  excitement,  raising  his  arms  and  knees  as  in  the 
opening  movements  of  a  dance. 

Hendricks  kept  his  own  excitement  down,  but 
with  a  distinctly  conscious  effort. 

'  I  heard  nothing  of  the  kind,'  he  said  calmly. 
1 1  was  only  thinking  of  getting  home  dry.  You 
say,'  he  asked  with  decision,  '  that  you  heard  those 
words  ? ' 

Lord  Ernie  stood  back  a  little.  It  was  not  that 
he  wished  to  conceal,  but  that  he  felt  uncertain  how 
to  express  himself.  '  In  the  street,'  he  said,  '  I  heard 
nothing  ;  the  words  rose  up  in  my  own  head,  as  it 
were.  But  in  the  dream,  and  afterwards  too,  when 
I  was  wide  awake,  I  heard  them  out  loud,  clearly  : 
Fire  that  heats  but  does  not  burn,  and  wind  that 
blows  the  heart  to  flame — that's  how  it  was.' 

'  In  French,  Bindy  ?     You  heard  it  in  French  ? ' 

1  Oh,  it  was  no  language  at  all.     The  eyes  said 


48  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

it — both  times.'  He  spoke  as  naturally  as  though 
it  was  the  Durbah  he  described  again.  Only  this 
new  aggressive  certainty  was  in  his  voice  and  manner. 
1  Mr.  Hendricks,'  he  went  on  eagerly,  'you  under- 
stand what  I  mean,  don't  you  ?  When  certain  people 
look  at  one,  words  start  up  in  the  mind  as  though  one 
heard  them  spoken.  I  heard  the  words  in  my  head, 
I  suppose  ;  only  they  seemed  so  familiar,  as  though 
I'd  known  them  before — always ' 

1  Of  course,  Bindy,  I  understand.  But  this  man — 
tell  me — did  he  stay  on  after  you  woke  up?  And 
how  did  he  go  ? '  He  looked  round  at  the  barely 
furnished  room  for  hiding-places.  *  It  was  really 
the  dream  you  carried  on  after  waking,  wasn't  it  ? ' 

Then  Bindy  laughed,  but  inwardly,  as  to  himself. 
There  was  the  faintest  possible  hint  of  derision  in 
his  voice.  '  No  doubt,'  he  said  ;  '  only  it  was  one 
of  my  big,  real  dreams.  And  how  he  went  I  can't 
explain  at  all,  for  I  didn't  see.  You  knocked  at  the 
door  ;  I  turned,  and  found  myself  standing  in  the 
room,  dressed  to  go  out.  There  was  a  rush  of  wind 
outside  the  window — and  when  I  looked  he  was  no 
longer  there.  The  same  minute  you  came  in.  It 
was  all  as  quick  as  that.  I  suppose  I  dressed — in 
my  sleep.' 

They  stood  for  several  minutes,  staring  at  each 
other  without  speaking.  The  tutor  hesitated  between 
several  courses  of  action,  unable,  for  the  life  of  him, 
to  decide  upon  any  particular  one.  His  instinct  on 
the  whole  was  to  stop  nothing,  but  to  encourage  all 
possible  expression,  while  keeping  rigorous  watch  and 
guard.  Repression,  it  seemed  to  him  just  then,  was 
the  least  desirable  line  to  take.  Somewhere  there 
was  truth  in  the  affair.  He  felt  out  of  his  depth, 
his  authority  impaired,    and  under  these  temporary 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     49 

disadvantages  he  might  so  easily  make  a  grave  mis- 
take, injuring  instead  of  helping.  While  Lord  Ernie 
finished  his  undressing  he  leaned  out  of  the  window, 
taking  great  draughts  of  the  keen  night  air,  watching 
the  blazing  fires  and  listening  to  the  roar  of  voices, 
now  dying  down  into  the  distance. 

And  the  voice  of  his  thinking  whispered  to  him, 
'  Let  it  all  come  out.  Repress  nothing.  Let  him 
have  the  entire  adventure.  If  it's  nonsense  it  can't 
injure,  and  if  it's  true  it's  inevitable.'  He  drew  his 
head  in  and  moved  towards  the  door.  *  Then  it's 
settled,'  he  said  quietly,  as  though  nothing  unusual 
had  happened  ;  '  we'll  go  up  there  to-morrow  night 
— with  Monsieur  Leysin  to  show  us  the  way.  And 
you'll  go  to  sleep  now,  won't  you  ?  For  to-morrow 
we  may  be  up  very  late.     Promise  me,  Bindy.' 

'  I'm  dead  tired,'  came  the  answer  from  the  sheets. 
*  I  certainly  shan't  dream  any  more,  if  that's  what  you 
mean.      I  promise.' 

Hendricks  turned  the  light  out  and  went  softly 
from  the  room.     He  could  always  trust  the  boy. 

'  Good-night,  Bindy,'  he  said. 

1  Good-night,'  came  the  drowsy  reply. 

Upstairs  he  lingered  a  long  time  over  his  own 
undressing,  listening,  waiting,  watching  for  the  least 
sound  below.  But  nothing  happened.  Once,  for 
his  own  peace  of  mind,  he  stole  stealthily  downstairs 
to  the  boy's  door  ;  then,  reassured  by  the  heavy 
breathing  that  was  distinctly  audible,  he  went  up 
finally  and  got  into  bed  himself.  The  night  was 
very  still  now.  It  was  cool,  and  the  stars  were 
brilliant  over  lake  and  forest  and  mountain.  No 
voices  broke  the  silence.  He  only  heard  the  tinkle 
of  the  little  streams  beyond  the  vineyards.  And  by 
midnight  he  was  sound  asleep. 

E 


So  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

VI 

And  next  day  broke  as  soft  and  brilliant  as  though 
October  had  stolen  it  from  June  ;  the  Alps  gleamed 
through  an  almost  summery  haze  across  the  lake  ; 
the  air  held  no  hint  of  coming  winter  ;  and  the  Jura 
mountains  wore  the  true  blue  of  memory  in  Hendricks' 
mind.  Patches  of  red  and  yellow  splashed  the  great 
pine-woods  here  and  there  where  beech  and  ash  put 
autumn  in  the  vast  dark  carpet. 

The  tutor  woke  clear-headed  and  refreshed.  All 
that  had  happened  the  night  before  seemed  out  of 
proportion  and  unreasonable.  There  had  been  ex- 
aggerated emotion  in  it  :  in  himself,  because  he 
returned  to  a  place  still  charged  with  potent  memories 
of  youth  ;  and  in  Lord  Ernie,  because  the  lad  was 
overwrought  by  the  electrical  disturbance  of  the 
atmosphere.  The  nearness  of  the  ancestral  halls, 
which  they  both  disliked,  had  emphasised  it ;  the 
ominous,  wild  weather  had  favoured  it  ;  and  the 
coincidence  of  these  pagan  rites  of  superstitious 
peasants  had  focused  it  all  into  a  melodramatic 
form  with  an  added  touch  of  the  supernatural  that 
was  highly  picturesque  and — dangerously  suggestive. 
Hendricks  recovered  his  common  sense  ;  judgment 
asserted  itself  again. 

Yet,  for  all  that,  certain  things  remained  authentic. 
The  effect  upon  the  boy  was  not  illusion,  nor  his 
words  about  fire  and  wind  mere  meaningless  invention. 
There  hid  some  undivined  and  significant  correspond- 
ence between  the  gaps  in  his  deficient  nature  and  these 
two  turbulent  elements.  The  talk  with  Leysin,  as 
the  conduct  of  his  wife,  remained  authentic  ;  those 
facts  were  too  steady  to  be  dismissed,  the  Pasteur 
too  genuinely  in  earnest  to  be  catalogued  in  dream. 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     51 

Neither  daylight  nor  common  sense  could  dissipate 
their  actuality.     Truth  lay  somewhere  in  it  all. 

Thus  the  day,  for  the  tutor,  was  a  battle  that 
shifted  with  varying  fortune  between  doubt  and  cer- 
tainty. In  the  morning  his  mind  was  decided  :  the 
wild  experiment  was  unjustifiable  ;  in  the  afternoon, 
as  the  sunshine  grew  faint  and  melancholy,  it  became 
'  interesting,  for  what  harm  could  come  of  it  ? '  but 
towards  evening,  when  shadows  lengthened  across 
the  purple  forests  and  the  trees  stood  motionless  in 
the  calm  and  windless  air,  the  adventure  seemed,  as 
it  had  seemed  the  night  before,  not  only  justifiable, 
but  right  and  necessary.  It  only  became  inevitable, 
however,  when,  after  tea  together  on  the  balcony, 
Lord  Ernie,  mentioning  the  subject  for  the  first  time 
that  day,  asked  pointedly  what  time  the  Pasteur 
expected  them  to  supper  ;  then,  noticing  the  flash 
of  hesitancy  in  his  companion's  eyes,  added  in  his 
strange  deep  voice,  '  You  promised  we  should  go.' 
Withdrawal  after  that  was  out  of  the  question.  To 
retract  would  have  meant,  for  one  thing,  final  loss 
of  the  boy's  confidence  —  a  possibility  not  to  be 
contemplated  for  a  moment. 

Until  this  moment  no  word  of  the  preceding 
night  had  passed  the  lips  of  either.  Lord  Ernie  had 
been  quiet  and  preoccupied,  silent  rather,  but  never 
listless.  He  was  peaceful,  perhaps  subdued  a  little, 
yet  with  a  suppressed  energy  in  his  bearing  that 
Hendricks  watched  with  secret  satisfaction.  The 
tutor,  closely  observant,  detected  nothing  out  of  gear  ; 
life  stirred  strongly  in  him  ;  there  was  purpose,  in- 
terest, will  ;  there  was  desire ;  but  there  was  nothing 
to  cause  alarm. 

Availing  himself  then  of  the  lad's  absorption  in 
his  own  affairs,  he  wandered  forth  alone  upon  his 


52  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

sentimental  tour  of  inspection.  No  ghost  of  emotion 
rose  to  stalk  beside  him.  That  early  tragedy,  he 
now  saw  clearly,  had  been  no  more  than  youthful 
explosion  of  mere  physical  passion,  wholesome  and 
natural,  but  due  chiefly  to  propinquity.  His  thoughts 
ran  idly  on ;  and  he  was  even  congratulating  himself 
upon  escape  and  freedom  when,  abruptly,  he  remem- 
bered a  phrase  Bindy  had  used  the  night  before, 
and  stumbled  suddenly  upon  a  clue  when  least 
expecting  it. 

He  came  to  a  sudden  halt.  The  significance  of 
it  crashed  through  his  mind  and  startled  him. 
'  There  are  big  rushing  women  .  .  .'  It  was  the 
first  reference  to  the  other  sex,  as  evidence  of  their 
attraction  for  him,  Hendricks  had  ever  known  to 
pass  his  lips.  Hitherto,  though  twenty  years  of  age, 
the  lad  had  never  spoken  of  women  as  though  he  was 
aware  of  their  terrible  magic.  He  had  not  discovered 
them  as  females,  necessary  to  every  healthy  male. 
It  was  not  purity,  of  course,  but  ignorance  :  he  had 
felt  nothing.  Something  had  now  awakened  sex  in 
him,  so  that  he  knew  himself  a  man,  and  naked. 
And  it  had  revolutionised  the  world  for  him.  This 
new  life  came  from  the  roots,  transforming  listless 
indifference  into  positive  desire  ;  the  will  woke  out 
of  sleep,  and  all  the  currents  of  his  system  took 
aggressive  form.  For  all  energy,  intellectual,  emo- 
tional, or  spiritual,  is  fundamentally  one  :  it  is 
primarily  sexual. 

Hendricks  paused  in  his  sentimental  walk,  mar- 
velling that  he  had  not  realised  sooner  this  simple 
truth.  It  brought  a  certain  logical  meaning  even 
into  the  pagan  rites  upon  the  mountains,  these  ancient 
rites  which  symbolised  the  marriage  of  the  two 
tremendous  elements  of  wind  and  fire,  heat  and  air. 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     $3 

And  the  lad's  quiet,  busy  mood  that  morning  con- 
firmed his  simple  discovery.  It  involved  restraint 
and  purpose.  Lord  Ernie  was  alive.  Hendricks 
would  take  home  with  him  to  those  ancestral  halls 
a  vessel  bursting  with  energy — creative  energy.  It 
was  admirable  that  he  should  witness — from  a  safe 
distance — this  primitive  ceremony  of  crude  pagan 
origin.  It  was  the  very  thing.  And  the  tutor 
hurried  back  to  the  house  among  the  vineyards, 
aware  that  his  responsibility  had  increased,  but  per- 
suaded more  than  ever  that  his  course  was  justified. 

•  ••••• 

The  sky  held  calm  and  cloudless  through  the 
day,  the  forests  brooding  beneath  the  hazy  autumn 
sunshine.  Indications  that  the  second  hurricane  lay 
brewing  among  the  heights  were  not  wanting,  how- 
ever, to  experienced  eyes.  Almost  a  preternatural 
silence  reigned  ;  there  was  a  warm  heaviness  in  the 
placid  atmosphere  ;  the  surface  of  the  lake  was 
patched  and  streaky  ;  the  extreme  clarity  of  the  air 
an  ominous  omen.  Distant  objects  were  too  close. 
Towards  sunset,  moreover,  the  streaks  and  patches 
vanished  as  though  sucked  below,  while  thin  strips 
of  tenuous  cloud  appeared  from  nowhere  above  the 
northern  cliffs.  They  moved  with  great  rapidity  at 
an  enormous  height,  touched  with  a  lurid  brilliance 
as  the  sun  sank  out  of  sight  ;  and  when  Hendricks 
strolled  over  with  Lord  Ernie  to  la  cure  for  supper 
there  came  a  sudden  rush  of  heated  wind  that  set  the 
branches  sharply  rattling,  then  died  away  as  abruptly 
as  it  rose. 

They  seemed  reflected,  too,  these  disturbances,  in 
the  human  atmospheres  about  the  supper  table  — 
there  was  suppression  of  various  emotions,  emotions 
presaging    violence.      Lord    Ernie   was    exhilarated, 


54  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

Hendricks  uneasy  and  preoccupied,  the  Pasteur  grave 
and  thoughtful.  In  Hendricks  was  another  feeling 
as  well — that  he  had  lightly  summoned  a  storm  which 
might  carry  him  off  his  feet.  The  boy's  excitement 
increased  it,  as  wind-puffs  fan  a  starting  fire.  His 
own  judgment  had  somewhere  played  him  false,  be- 
traying him  into  this  incredible  adventure.  And  yet 
he  could  not  stop  it.  The  Pasteur's  influence  was 
over  him  perhaps.  He  was  ashamed  to  turn  back. 
He  was  committed.  The  unusual  circumstances 
found  the  weakness  in  his  character. 

For  somewhere  in  the  preposterous  superstition 
there  lay  a  big  forgotten  truth.  He  could  not 
believe  it,  and  yet  he  did  believe  it.  The  world  had 
forgotten  how  to  live  truly  close  to  Nature. 

A  desultory  conversation  was  carried  on,  chiefly 
between  the  two  men,  while  the  boy  ate  hungrily, 
and  Mme.  Leysin  watched  her  husband  with  anxiety 
as  she  served  the  simple  meal. 

'  So  you  are  coming  with  us,  and  you  like  to 
come  ? '  the  Pasteur  observed  quietly,  Hendricks 
translating. 

Lord  Ernie  replied  with  a  gesture  of  unmistak- 
able enthusiasm. 

'  A  wild  lot  of  men  and  women,'  Leysin  went  on, 
keeping  his  eye  hard  upon  him,  '  with  an  interesting 
worship  of  their  own  copied  from  very  ancient  times. 
They  live  on  the  heights,  and  mix  little  with  us 
valley  folk.     You  shall  see  their  ceremonies  to-night.' 

1  They  get  the  wind  and  fire  into  themselves, 
don't  they  ? '  asked  the  boy  keenly,  and  somewhat  to 
the  distress  of  the  translator  who  rendered  it,  '  They 
get  into  wind  and  fire.' 

*  They  worship  wind  and  fire,'  Leysin  replied, 
'  and  they  do  it  by  means  of  a  wonderful  dance  that 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     55 

somehow  imitates  the  leap  of  flame  and  the  headlong 
rush  of  wind.  If  you  copy  the  movements  and 
gestures  of  a  person  you  discover  the  emotion 
that  causes  them.  You  share  it.  Their  idea  is, 
apparently,  that  by  imitating  the  movements  they 
invite  or  attract  the  force— - draw  these  elemental 
powers  into  their  systems,  so  that  in  the  end ' 

He  stopped  suddenly,  catching  the  tutor's  eye. 
Lord  Ernie  seemed  to  understand  without  transla- 
tion ;  he  had  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and  was 
leaning  forward  across  the  table,  listening  with  deep 
absorption.  His  expression  was  alert  with  a  new 
intelligence  that  was  almost  cunning.  An  acute 
sensibility  seemed  to  have  awakened  in  him. 

1  As  with  laughing,  I  suppose  ? '  he  said  in  an 
undertone  to  Hendricks  quickly.  '  If  you  imitate  a 
laugher,  you  laugh  yourself  in  the  end  and  feel  all 
the  jolly  excitement  of  laughter.  Is  that  what  he 
means  ? ' 

The  tutor  nodded  with  assumed  indifference. 
'  Imitation  is  always  infectious,'  he  said  lightly  ;  '  but, 
of  course,  you  will  not  imitate  these  wild  people 
yourself,  Bindy.    We'll  just  look  on  from  a  distance.' 

'  From  a  distance  !  '  repeated  the  boy,  obviously 
disappointed.  'What's  the  good  of  that  ?'  A  look 
of  obstinacy  passed  across  his  altered  face. 

Hendricks  met  his  eyes  squarely.  'At  a  circus,' 
he  said  firmly,  '  you  just  watch.  You  don't  imitate 
the  clown,  do  you  ? ' 

'  If  you  look  on  long  enough,  you  do,'  was  the 
rather  dogged  reply. 

'  Well,  take  the  Russian  dancers  we  saw  in 
Moscow,'  the  other  insisted  patiently  ;  '  you  felt  the 
power  and  beauty  without  jumping  up  and  whirling 
in  your  stall  ? ' 


56  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

Bindy  half  glared  at  him.  There  was  almost 
contempt  in  his  quiet  answer  :  '  But  your  mind 
whirled  with  them.  And  later  your  body  would  too  ; 
otherwise  it's  given  you  nothing.'  He  paused  a 
second.  '  I  can  only  get  the  fun  of  riding  by  being 
on  a  horse's  back  and  doing  his  movements  exactly 
with  him — not  by  watching  him.' 

Hendricks  smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
He  did  not  wish  to  discourage  the  enthusiasm  lying 
behind  this  analysis.  The  uneasiness  in  him  grew 
apace.  He  said  something  rapidly  in  French,  using 
an  undertone  and  laughter  to  confuse  the  actual 
words. 

'  Of  course  we  must  not  interfere  with  their 
ceremonies,'  put  in  the  Pasteur  with  decision.  '  It's 
sacred  to  them.  We  can  hide  among  the  trees  and 
watch.  You  would  not  leave  your  seat  in  church 
to  imitate  the  priest,  would  you  ? '  He  glanced 
smilingly  at  the  eager  youth  before  him, 

'  If  he  did  something  real,  I  would.'  It  was  said 
with  a  bright  flash  in  the  eyes.  'Anything  real  I'd 
copy  like  a  shot.     Only,  I  never  find  it.' 

The  reply  was  disconcerting  rather  :  and  Hen- 
dricks, as  he  hurriedly  translated,  made  a  clatter  with 
his  knife  and  fork,  for  something  in  him  rose  to  meet 
the  truth  behind  the  curious  words.  From  that 
moment,  as  though  catching  a  little  of  the  boy's 
exhilaration,  he  passed  under  a  kind  of  spell  perhaps. 
It  was,  in  spite  of  the  exaggeration,  oddly  stimulating. 
This  dull  little  meal  at  the  village  cure  masked  an 
accumulating  vehemence,  eager  to  break  loose.  He 
heard  the  old  father's  voice  :  'Well  done,  Hendricks! 
You  have  accomplished  wonders  ! '  He  would  take 
back  the  boy — alive.   .   .   . 

Yet  all  the  time  there  were  streaks  and  patches  on 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     57 

his  soul  as  upon  the  surface  of  the  lake  that  afternoon. 
There  were  signs  of  terror.  He  felt  himself  letting 
go,  an  increasing  recklessness,  a  yielding  up  more 
and  more  of  his  own  authority  to  that  of  this 
triumphant  boy.  Bindy  understood  the  meaning  of 
it  all  and  felt  secure  ;  Hendricks  faltered,  hesitated, 
stood  on  the  defensive.  Yet,  ever  less  and  less. 
Already  he  accepted  the  other's  guidance.  Already 
Lord  Ernie's  leadership  was  in  the  ascendant.  Con- 
viction invariably  holds  dominion  over  doubt. 

They  ate  little.  It  was  near  the  end  of  the  meal 
when  the  wind,  falling  from  a  clear  and  starlit  sky, 
struck  its  first  violent  blow,  dropping  with  the  force 
of  an  explosion  that  shook  the  wooden  house,  and 
passing  with  a  roar  towards  the  distant  lake.  The 
oil  lamp,  suspended  from  the  ceiling,  trembled  ; 
the  Pasteur  looked  apprehensively  at  the  shuttered 
windows  ;  and  Lord  Ernie,  with  startling  abruptness, 
stood  up.  His  eyes  were  shining.  His  voice  was 
brisk,  alert,  and  deep. 

'  The  wind,  the  wind  ! '  he  cried.  '  Think  what 
it'll  be  up  there !  We  shall  feel  it  on  our  bodies  ! ' 
His  enthusiasm  was  like  a  rush  of  air  across  the  table. 
'  And  the  fire  ! '  he  went  on.  '  The  flames  will  lick 
all  over,  and  tear  about  the  sky.  I  feel  wild  and  full 
of  them  already  !  How  splendid  !  '  And  the  flame 
of  the  little  lamp  leaped  higher  in  the  chimney  as  he 
said  it. 

'  The  violence  of  the  coup  de  joran  is  extraordinary,' 
explained  Leysin  as  he  got  up  to  turn  down  the  wick, 

*  and   the    second    outburst ■      The    rest  of  his 

sentence  was  drowned  by  the  noise  of  Hendricks' 
voice  telling  the  boy  to  sit  down  and  finish  his 
supper.  And  at  the  same  moment  the  Pasteur's  wife 
came  in  as  though  a  stroke  of  wind  drove  behind  her 


58  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

down  the  passage.  The  door  slammed  in  the  draught. 
There  was  a  momentary  confusion  in  the  room  above 
which  her  voice  rose  shrill  and  frightened. 

'  The  fires  are  alight,  Jules,'  she  whispered  in  her 
half-  intelligible  patois,  '  the  forest  is  burning  all 
along  the  upper  ridge.'  Her  face  was  pale  and  her 
speech  came  stumbling.  She  lowered  her  lips  to  her 
husband's  ear.  '  They'll  be  looking  out  for  recruits 
to-night.  Is  it  necessary,  is  it  right  for  you  to  go  ? ' 
She  glanced  uneasily  at  the  English  visitors.  '  You 
know  the  danger ' 

He  stopped  her  with  a  gesture.  '  Those  who  look 
on  at  life  accomplish  nothing,'  he  answered  impa- 
tiently. '  One  must  act,  always  act.  Chances  are 
sent  to  be  taken,  not  stared  at.'  He  rose,  pushing 
past  her  into  the  passage,  and  as  he  did  so  she  gave 
him  one  swift  comprehensive  look  of  tenderness  and 
admiration,  then  hurried  after  him  to  find  his  hat 
and  cloak.  Willingly  she  would  have  kept  him  at 
home  that  night,  yet  gladly,  in  another  sense,  she  saw 
him  go.  She  fumbled  in  her  movements,  ready  to 
laugh  or  cry  or  pray.  Hendricks  saw  her  pain  and 
understood.  It  was  singular  how  the  woman's  atti- 
tude intensified  his  own  misgivings  ;  her  behaviour, 
the  mere  expression  of  her  face  alone,  made  the 
adventure  so  absolutely  real. 

Three  minutes  later  they  were  in  the  village  street. 
Hendricks  and  Lord  Ernie,  the  latter  impatient  in 
the  road  beyond,  saw  her  tall  figure  stoop  to  em- 
brace him.  '  I  shall  pray  all  night  :  I  shall  watch 
from  my  window  for  your  return.  God,  who 
speaks  from  the  whirlwind,  and  whose  pathway  is 
the  fire,  will  go  with  you.  Remember  the  younger 
men ;  it  is  ever  the  younger  men  that  they  seek  to 
take  .   .  . ! '     Her  words  were  half  hysterical.     The 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     59 

kiss  was  given  and  taken  ;  the  open  doorway  framed 
her  outline  a  moment  ;  then  the  buttress  of  the 
church  blotted  her  out,  and  they  were  off. 

VII 

And  at  once  the  curious  confusion  of  strong  wind 
was  upon  them.  Gusts  howled  about  the  corners 
of  the  shuttered  houses  and  tore  noisily  across  the 
open  yards.  Dust  whirled  with  the  rapidity  as  of 
some  spectral  white  machinery.  A  tile  came  clatter- 
ing down  about  their  feet,  while  overhead  the  roofs 
had  an  air  of  shifting,  toppling,  bending.  The  entire 
village  seemed  scooped  up  and  shaken,  then  dropped 
upon  the  earth  again  in  tottering  fashion. 

'  T  his  way,'  gasped  the  little  Pasteur,  blown  side- 
ways like  a  sail ;  '  follow  me  closely.'  Almost  arm-in- 
arm at  first  they  hurried  down  the  deserted  street, 
past  lampless  windows  and  tight- fastened  doors, 
and  soon  were  beyond  the  cabaret  in  that  open 
stretch  between  the  village  and  the  forest  where 
the  wind  had  unobstructed  way.  Far  above  them 
ran  the  fiery  mountain  ridge.  They  saw  the  glare 
reflected  in  the  sky  as  the  tempest  first  swept  them 
all  three  together,  then  separated  them  in  the  same 
moment.  They  seemed  to  spin  or  whirl.  '  It's 
far  worse  than  I  expected,'  shouted  their  guide  ; 
1  here  !  Give  me  your  hand  !  '  then  found,  once  dis- 
entangled from  his  flapping  cloak,  that  no  one  stood 
beside  him.  For  each  of  them  it  was  a  single  fight 
to  reach  the  shelter  of  the  woods,  where  the  actual 
ascent  began.  An  instant  the  Pasteur  seemed  to 
hesitate.  He  glanced  back  at  the  lighted  window  of 
la  cure  across  the  fields,  at  the  line  of  fire  in  the  sky, 
at  the  figure  disappearing  in  the  blackness  immedi- 


60  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

ately  ahead.  '  Where's  the  boy  ? '  he  shouted. 
*  Don't  let  him  get  too  far  in  front.  Keep  close. 
Wait  till  I  come  !  '  They  staggered  back  against 
each  other.  '  Look  how  easily  he's  slipped  ahead 
already  !  ' 

'  This  howling  wind '  Hendricks  shouted,  as 

they  advanced  side  by  side,  pushing  their  shoulders 
against  the  storm. 

The  rest  of  the  sentence  vanished  into  space. 
Leysin  shoved  him  forward,  pointing  to  where, 
some  twenty  yards  in  front,  the  figure  of  Lord 
Ernie,  head  down,  was  battling  eagerly  with  the 
hurricane.  Already  he  stood  near  to  the  shelter  of 
the  trees  waving  his  arms  with  energy  towards  the 
summits  where  the  fire  blazed.  He  was  calling 
something  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  urging  them  to 
hurry.  His  voice  rushed  down  upon  them  with  a 
pelt  of  wind. 

'  Don't  let  him  get  away  from  us,'  bawled  Leysin, 
holding  his  hands  cup-wise  to  his  mouth.  *  Keep 
him  in  reach.  He  may  see,  but  must  not  take 
part  .  .  .'  A  blow  full  in  the  face  that  smote  him 
like  the  flat  of  a  great  sword  clapped  the  sentence 
short.  '  That's  your  part.  He  won't  obey  me  ! ' 
Hendricks  heard  it  as  they  plunged  across  the  wind- 
swept reach,  panting,  struggling,  forcing  their  bodies 
sideways  like  two-legged  crabs  against  the  terrific 
force  of  the  descending  joran.  They  reached  the 
protection  of  the  forest  wall  without  further  attempt 
at  speech.  Here  there  was  sudden  peace  and  silence, 
for  the  tall,  dense  trees  received  the  tempest's  impact 
like  a  cushion,  stopping  it.  They  paused  a  moment 
to  recover  breath. 

But  although  the  first  exhaustion  speedily  passed, 
that  original  confusion  of  strong  wind  remained — in 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     61 

Hendricks'  mind  at  least, — for  wind  violent  enough 
to  be  battled  with  has  a  scattering  effect  on  thought 
and  blows  the  very  blood  about.  Something  in  him 
snapped  its  cables  and  blew  out  to  sea.  His  breath 
drew  in  an  impetuous  quality  from  the  tempest  each 
time  he  filled  his  lungs.  There  was  agitation  in  him 
that  caused  an  odd  exaggeration  of  the  emotions. 
The  boy,  as  they  came  up,  leaped  down  from  a 
boulder  he  had  climbed.  He  opened  his  arms, 
making  of  his  cloak  a  kind  of  sail  that  filled  and 
flapped. 

'  At  last ! '  he  cried,  impatient,  almost  vexed.  '  I 
thought  you  were  never  coming.  The  wind  blew  me 
along.     We  shall  be  late ' 

The  tutor  caught  his  arm  with  vigour.  '  You 
keep  by  us,  Ernest  ;  d'you  hear  now  ?  No  rushing 
ahead  like  that.  Leysin's  the  guide,  not  you.'  He 
even  shook  him.  But  as  he  did  so  he  was  aware 
that  he  himself  resisted  something  that  he  did  not 
really  want  to  resist,  something  that  urged  him 
forcibly  ;  a  little  more  and  he  would  yield  to  it  with 
pleasure,  with  abandon,  finally  with  recklessness.  A 
reaction  of  panic  fear  ran  over  him. 

'  It  was  the  wind,  I  tell  you,'  cried  the  boy,  fling- 
ing himself  free  with  a  hint  of  insolence  in  his  voice, 
1  for  it's  alive.  I  mean  to  see  everything.  The 
wind's  our  leader  and  the  fire's  our  guide.'  He 
made  a  movement  to  start  on  again. 

'  You'll  obey  me,'  thundered  Hendricks,  c  or  else 
you'll  go  home.     D'you  understand  ?  ' 

With  exasperation,  yet  with  uneasy  delight,  he 
noted  the  words  Bindy  made  use  of.  It  was  in  him 
that  he  might  almost  have  uttered  them  himself. 
He  stepped  already  into  an  entirely  new  world.  Ex- 
hilaration caught  him  even  now.     Putting  the  brake 


62  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

on  was  mere  pretence.  He  seized  the  lad  by  both 
shoulders  and  pushed  him  to  the  rear,  then  placed 
himself  next,  so  that  Ley  sin  moved  in  front  and  led 
the  way.  The  procession  started,  diving  into  the 
comparative  shelter  of  the  forest.  '  Don't  let  him 
pass  you,'  he  heard  in  rapid  French  ;  '  guide  him, 
that's  all.  The  power's  already  in  his  blood.  Keep 
yourself  in  hand  as  well,  and  follow  me  closely.' 
The  roar  of  the  storm  above  them  carried  the  words 
clean  off  the  world. 

Here  in  the  forest  they  moved,  it  seemed,  along 
the  floor  of  an  ocean  whose  surface  raged  with  dread- 
ful violence  ;  any  moment  one  or  other  of  them 
might  be  caught  up  to  that  surface  and  whirled  off 
to  destruction.  For  the  procession  was  not  one  with 
itself.  The  darkness,  the  difficulty  of  hearing  what 
each  said,  the  feeling,  too,  that  each  climbed  for 
himself,  made  everything  seem  at  sixes  and  sevens. 
And  the  tutor,  this  secret  exultation  growing  in  his 
heart,  denied  the  anxiety  that  kept  it  pace,  and 
battled  with  his  turbulent  emotions,  a  divided  per- 
sonality. His  power  over  the  boy,  he  realised,  had 
gravely  weakened.  A  little  time  ago  they  had 
seemed  somehow  equal.  Now,  however,  a  complete 
reversal  of  their  relative  positions  had  taken  place. 
The  boy  was  sure  of  himself.  While  Leysin  led  at 
a  steady  mountaineer's  pace  on  his  wiry,  short,  bowed 
legs,  Hendricks,  a  yard  or  two  behind  him,  stumbled 
a  good  deal  in  the  darkness,  Lord  Ernie  forever  on 
his  heels,  eager  to  push  past.  But  Bindy  never 
stumbled.  There  was  no  flagging  in  his  muscles. 
He  moved  so  lightly  and  with  so  sure  a  tread  that 
he  almost  seemed  to  dance,  and  often  he  stopped 
aside  to  leap  a  boulder  or  to  run  along  a  fallen 
trunk.      Path  there  was  none.     Occasional  gusts  of 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     63 

wind  rushed  gustily  down  into  these  depths  of  forest 
where  they  moved,  and  now,  from  time  to  time,  as 
they  rose  nearer  to  the  line  of  fire  on  the  ridge,  an 
increasing  glare  lit  up  the  knuckled  roots  or  glim- 
mered on  the  bramble  thickets  and  heavy  beds  of 
moss.  It  was  astonishing  how  the  little  Pasteur 
never  missed  his  way.  Periods  of  thick  silence 
alternated  with  moments  when  the  storm  swept 
down  through  gullies  among  the  trees,  reverberating 
like  thunder  in  the  hollows. 

Slowly  they  advanced,  buffeted,  driven,  pushed, 
the  wildness  of  some  Walpurgis  night  growing  upon 
all  three.  In  the  tutor's  mind  was  this  strange  lift 
of  increasing  recklessness,  the  old  proportion  gone, 
the  spiritual  aspect  of  it  troubling  him  to  the  point 
of  sheer  distress.  He  followed  Leysin  as  blindly  with 
his  body  as  he  followed  this  new  Bindy  eagerly  with 
his  mind.  For  this  languid  boy,  now  dancing  to  the 
tune  of  flooding  life  at  his  very  heels,  seemed  magical 
in  the  true  sense  :  energy  created  as  by  a  wizard  out 
of  nothing.  From  lips  that  ordinarily  sighed  in  list- 
less boredom  poured  now  a  ceaseless  stream  of  ques- 
tions and  ejaculations,  ringing  with  enthusiasm.  How 
long  would  it  take  to  reach  the  fiery  ridge  ?  Why 
did  they  go  so  slowly  ?  Would  they  arrive  too  late  ? 
Would  their  intrusion  be  welcomed  or  understood  ? 
Already  one  great  change  was  effected — accepted  by 
Hendricks,  too — that  the  role  of  mere  spectator  was 
impossible.  The  answers  Hendricks  gave,  indeed, 
grew  more  and  more  encouraging  and  sympathetic. 
He,  too,  was  impatient  with  their  leader's  crawling 
pace.  Some  elemental  spell  of  wind  and  fire  urged 
him  towards  the  open  ridge.  The  pull  became 
irresistible.  He  despised  the  Pasteur's  caution, 
denied    his  wisdom,  wholly  rejected    now  the  spirit 


64  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

of  compromise  and  prudence.  And  once,  as  the 
hurricane  brought  down  a  flying  burst  of  voices,  he 
caught  himself  leaping  upon  a  big  grey  boulder  in 
their  path.  He  leaped  at  the  very  moment  that  the 
boy  behind  him  leaped,  yet  hardly  realised  that  he 
did  so  ;  his  feet  danced  without  a  conscious  order 
from  his  brain.  They  met  together  on  the  rounded 
top,  stumbled,  clutched  one  another  frantically,  then 
slid  with  waving  arms  and  flying  cloaks  down  the 
slippery  surface  of  damp  moss — laughing  wildly. 

'  Fool !  '  cried  Hendricks,  saving  himself.  '  What 
in  the  world ?  ' 

*  You  called,'  laughed  Bindy,  picking  himself  up 
and  dropping  back  to  his  place  in  the  rear  again. 
'  It's  the  wind,  not  me  ;  it's  in  our  feet.  Half  the 
time  you're  shouting  and  jumping  yourself!  ' 

And  it  was  a  few  minutes  after  this  that  Lord 
Ernie  suddenly  forged  ahead.  He  slipped  in  front 
as  silently  as  a  shadow  before  a  moving  candle  in  a 
room.  Passing  the  tutor  at  a  moment  when  his  feet 
were  entangled  among  roots  and  stones,  he  easily 
overtook  the  Pasteur  and  found  himself  in  the  lead. 
He  never  stumbled  ;  there  seemed  steel  springs  in 
his  legs. 

From  Leysin,  too  breathless  to  interfere,  came  a 
cry  of  warning.  '  Stop  him  !  Take  his  hand  ! '  his 
tired  voice  instantly  smothered  by  the  roaring  skies. 
He  turned  to  catch  Hendricks  by  the  cloak.  '  You 
see  that\y  he  shouted  in  alarm.  'For  the  love  of 
God,  don't  lose  sight  of  him  !  He  must  see,  but 
not  take  part — remember ! ' 

And  Hendricks  yelled  after  the  vanishing  figure, 
'  Bindy,  go  slow,  go  slow  !  Keep  in  touch  with  us.' 
But  he  quickened  his  pace  instantly,  as  though  to 
overtake   the   boy.       He   passed   his   companion   the 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     65 

same  minute,  and  was  out  of  sight.  •  I'll  wait  for 
you,'  came  back  the  boy's  shrill  answer  through  the 
thinning  trees.  And  a  flare  of  light  fell  with  it  from 
the  sky,  for  the  final  climb  of  a  steep  five  hundred 
feet  had  now  begun,  and  overhead  the  naked  ridge 
ran  east  and  west  with  its  line  of  blazing  fires. 
Boulders  and  rocky  ground  replaced  the  pines  and 
spruces. 

'  But  you'll  never  find  the  way,'  shouted  Leysin, 
while  a  deep  trumpeting  roar  of  the  storm  beyond 
muffled  the  remainder  of  the  sentence. 

Hendricks  heard  the  next  words  close  beside  him 
from  a  clump  of  shadows.  He  was  in  touching 
distance  of  the  excited  boy. 

'  The  fires  and  the  singing  guide  me.  Only  a 
fool  could  miss  the  way.' 

'  But  vou  are  a ' 

He  swallowed  the  unuttered  word.  A  new,  ex- 
traordinary respect  was  suddenly  in  him.  That  tall, 
virile  figure,  instinct  with  life,  springing  so  cleverly 
through  the  choking  darkness,  guiding  with  decision 
and  intelligence,  almost  infallible — it  was  no  fool  that 
led  them  thus.  He  hurried  after  till  his  very  sinews 
ached.  His  eyes,  troubled  and  confused,  strained 
through  the  trees  to  find  him.  But  these  same  trees 
now  fled  past  him  in  a  torrent. 

'  Bindy,  Bindy  ! '  he  cried,  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
yet  not  with  the  imperious  tone  the  situation  called 
for.  The  sentence  dropped  into  a  lull  of  wind. 
Instead  ot  command  there  was  entreaty,  almost 
supplication,  in  it.  '  Wait  for  me,  I'm  coming. 
We'll  see  the  glorious  thing  together  ! ' 

And  then  suddenly  the  forest  lay  behind  him,  with 
a  belt  of  open  pasture-land  in  front  below  the  actual 
ridge.     He  felt  the  first  great  draught  of  heat,  as  a 

F 


66  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

line  of  furnaces  burst  their  doors  with  a  mighty  roar 
and  turned  the  sky  into  a  blaze  of  golden  daylight. 
There  was  a  crackling  as  of  musketry.  The  flare 
shot  up  and  burned  the  air  about  him,  and  the  voices 
of  a  multitude,  as  yet  invisible,  drove  through  it  like 
projectiles  on  the  wind.  This  was  the  first  impression, 
wholesale  and  terrific,  that  met  him  as  he  paused  an 
instant  on  the  edge  of  the  sheltering  forest  and  looked 
forward.  Leysin  and  Lord  Ernie  seemed  to  leave 
his  mind,  forgotten  in  this  first  attack  of  splendour, 
but  forgotten,  as  it  were,  the  first  with  contempt, 
the  latter  with  an  overwhelming  regret.  For  the 
Pasteur's  mistake  in  that  instant  seemed  obvious. 
In  half  measures  lay  the  fatal  error,  and  in  com- 
promise the  danger.  Bindy  all  along  had  known 
the  better  way  and  followed  it.  The  lukewarm  was 
the  worthless. 

*  Bindy,  boy,  where  are  you  ?  I'm  coming  .  .  .' 
and  stepping  on  to  the  grassy  strip  of  ground,  soft 
to  his  feet,  he  met  a  wind  that  fell  upon  his  body 
with  a  shower  of  blows  from  all  directions  at  once 
and  beat  him  to  his  knees.  He  dropped,  it  seemed, 
into  the  cover  of  a  sheltering  rock,  for  there  followed 
then  a  moment  of  sudden  and  delicious  stillness  in 
which  the  weary  muscles  recovered  themselves  and 
thought  grew  slightly  steadier.  Crouched  thus  close 
to  the  earth  he  no  longer  offered  a  target  to  the 
hurricane's  attack.  He  peered  upwards,  making  a 
screen  of  his  hands. 

The  ridge,  some  fifty  feet  above  him,  he  saw,  ran 
in  a  generous  platform  along  the  mountain  crest  ;  it 
was  wide  and  flat  ;  between  the  enormous  fires  of 
piled-up  wood  that  stretched  for  half  a  mile  coiled 
a  medley  of  dense  smoke  and  tearing  sparks.  No 
human  beings  were  visible,  and  yet  he  was  aware  of 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     67 

crowding  life  quite  near.  On  hands  and  knees, 
crawling  painfully,  he  then  slowly  retreated  again 
into  the  shelter  of  the  forest  he  had  sought  to  leave. 
He  stood  up.  The  awful  blaze  was  veiled  by  the 
roof  of  branches  once  more.  But,  as  he  rose,  seizing 
a  sapling  to  steady  himself  by,  two  hands  caught 
him  with  violence  from  behind,  and  a  familiar  voice 
came  shouting  against  his  ear.  Leysin,  panting, 
dishevelled  and  half  broken  with  the  speed,  stood 
beside  him. 

'  The  boy  !  Where  is  he  ?  We're  just  in  time  !  ' 
He  roared  the  words  to  make  them  carry  above  the 
din.  '  Hurry,  hurry  !  I'll  follow.  .  .  .  My  older 
legs.  .  .  .  See,  for  the  love  of  God,  that  he  is  not 
taken.   ...   I  warned  you  !  '  Agrf 

And  for  a  second,  as  he  heard,  Hendricks  caught 
at  the  vanished  sense  of  responsibility  again.  He 
saw  the  face  of  the  old  Marquess  watching  him  among 
the  tree  trunks.  He  heard  his  voice,  amazed, 
reproachful,  furious  :  '  It  was  criminal  of  you, 
criminal ! ' 

'  Where  is  the  boy — your  boy  ? '  again  broke  in 
the  shout  of  the  Pasteur  with  a  slap  of  hurricane,  as 
he  staggered  against  the  tutor,  half  collapsing,  and 
trying  to  point  the  direction.  '  Watch  him,  find 
him  for  the  love  of  heaven  before  it  is  too  late — 
before  they  see  him.   .   .   .  !  ' 

The  tutor's  normal  and  responsible  self  dived  out 
of  sight  again  as  he  heard  the  cry  of  weakness  and 
alarm.  It  seemed  the  wind  got  under  him,  lifting 
him  bodily  from  his  feet.  He  did  not  pause  to 
think.  Like  a  man  midway  in  a  whirling  prize- 
fight, he  felt  dazed  but  confident,  only  conscious  of 
one  thing — that  he  must  hold  out  to  the  end,  take 
part  in  all  the  splendid  fighting — win.     The  lust  of 


68  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

the  arena,  the  pride  of  youth  and  battle,  the  impetu- 
ous recklessness  of  the  charge  in  primitive  war  caught 
at  his  heart,  brimming  it  with  headlong  courage. 
To  play  the  game  for  all  it  might  be  worth  seemed 
shouted  everywhere  about  him,  as  the  abandon  of 
wind  and  fire  rushed  through  him  like  a  storm.  He 
felt  lifted  above  all  possibility  of  little  failure.  The 
Marquess  with  his  conventional  traditions,  the  Pasteur 
with  his  considerations  of  half-way  safety,  both 
vanished  utterly  ;  safety,  indeed,  both  for  himself 
and  for  the  boy  in  his  charge  lay  in  unconditional 
surrender.  This  was  no  time  for  little  thought-out 
actions.     It  was  all  or  nothing  ! 

'  God  bless  the  whirlwind  and  the  fire  ! '  he  shouted, 
opening  wide  his  arms. 

But  his  voice  was  inaudible  amid  the  uproar,  and 
the  forward  movement  of  his  body  remained  at  first 
only  in  the  brain.  He  turned  to  push  the  old  man 
aside,  even  to  strike  him  down  if  necessary.  *  Luke- 
warm yourself  and  a  coward  ! '  rose  in  his  throat,  yet 
found  no  utterance,  for  in  that  moment  a  tall,  slim 
figure,  swift  as  a  shadow,  steady  as  a  hawk,  shot  hard 
across  the  open  space  between  the  forest  and  the  ridge. 
In  the  direction  of  the  blazing  platform  it  disappeared 
against  a  curtain  of  thick  smoke,  emerged  for  one 
second  in  a  storm  of  light,  then  vanished  finally 
behind  a  ruin  of  loose  rocks.  And  Hendricks,  his 
eyes  wounded  by  heat  and  wind,  his  muscles  paralysed, 
understood  that  the  boy  deliberately  invited  capture. 
The  multitude  that  hid  behind  the  smoke  and  fire, 
feeding  the  blazing  heaps  with  eager  hands,  had 
become  aware  of  him,  and  presently  would  appear 
to  claim  him.  They  would  take  him  to  themselves. 
Already  answering  flares  ran  east  and  west  along  the 
desolate  ridge. 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     69 

'  I'll  join  you  !     I'm  coming  !     Wait  for  me  ! '  he 
tried  to  cry.     The  uproar  smothered  it. 


VIII 

And  this  uproar,  he  now  perceived,  was  composed 
entirely  of  wind  and  fire.  Here,  on  the  roof  of  the 
hills  beneath  a  starry  sky,  these  two  great  elements 
expressed  their  nature  with  unhampered  freedom,  for 
there  was  neither  rain  to  modify  the  one,  nor  solid 
obstacle  to  check  the  other.  Their  voices  merged 
in  a  single  sound — the  hollow  boom  of  wind  and  the 
deep,  resounding  clap  of  flame.  The  splitting  crackle 
of  burning  branches  imitated  the  high,  shrill  whistle 
of  the  tearing  gusts  that,  javelin-like,  flew  to  and  fro 
in  darts  of  swifter  sound.  But  one  shout  rose  from  the 
summit,  no  human  cry  distinguishable  in  it,  nor  amid 
the  thousand  lines  of  skeleton  wood  that  pierced  the 
golden  background  was  any  human  outline  visible. 
Fire  and  wind  encouraged  one  another  to  madness, 
manifesting  in  prodigious  splendour  by  themselves. 

Then,  suddenly,  before  a  gigantic  canter  of  the 
wind,  the  driving  smoke  rolled  upwards  like  a 
curtain,  and  the  flames,  ceasing  their  wild  flapping, 
soared  steadily  in  gothic  windows  of  living  gold  to- 
wards the  stars.  In  towering  rows  between  columns 
of  black  night  they  transformed  the  empty  space 
between  them  into  a  colossal  temple  aisle.  They 
tapered  aloft  symmetrically  into  vanishing  crests. 
And  Hendricks  stood  upright.  Rising  so  that  his 
shoulders  topped  the  edge  of  the  boulder,  and  utterly 
contemptuous  of  Leysin's  hand  that  sought  with 
violence  to  drag  him  into  shelter,  he  gazed  as  one 
who  sees  a  vision.  For  at  first  he  could  only  stand 
and  stare,  aware  of  sensation  but  not  of  thought.     An 


7o  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

enormous,  overpowering  conviction  blew  his  whole 
being  to  white  heat.  Here  was  a  supply  of  elemental 
power  that  human  beings — empty,  needy,  starved, 
deficient  human  beings — could  use.  His  love  for 
the  boy  leaped  headlong  at  the  skirts  of  this  terrific 
salvation.  A  majestic  possibility  stormed  through 
him. 

Yet  it  was  no  nightmare  wonder  that  met  his 
staring  and  half-shielded  eyes,  although  some  touch 
of  awful  dream  seemed  in  it,  set,  moreover,  to  a  scale 
that  scantier  minds  might  deem  distortion.  The  heat 
from  some  thirty  fires,  placed  at  regular  intervals, 
made  midnight  quiver  with  immense  vibrations.  Of 
varying,  yet  calculated  size,  these  towering  heaps 
emitted  notes  of  measured  and  alternating  depth, 
until  the  roar  along  the  entire  line  produced  a  definite 
scale  almost  of  melody,  the  near  ones  shrilly  singing, 
those  more  distant  booming  with  mountainous  pedal 
notes.  The  consonance  was  monstrous,  yet  con- 
formed to  some  magnificent  diapason.  This  chord 
of  fire- music  paced  the  starlit  sky,  directed,  but 
never  overmastered,  by  the  wind  that  measured  it 
somehow  into  meaning.  Repeated  in  quick  suc- 
cession, the  notes  now  crashing  in  a  mass,  now 
singing  alone  in  solitary  beauty,  the  effect  suggested 
an  idea  of  ordered  sequence,  of  gigantic  rhythm. 
It  seemed,  indeed,  as  though  some  controlling 
agency,  mastering  excess,  coerced  both  raging  ele- 
ments to  express  through  this  stupendous  dance 
some  definite  idea.  Here,  as  it  were,  was  the  alphabet 
of  some  natural,  undifferentiated  language,  a  language 
of  sight  and  sound,  predating  speech,  symbolical  in 
the  ultimate,  deific  sense.  Some  Lord  of  Fire  and 
some  Lord  of  Air  were  in  command.  Harnessed 
and  regulated,  these  formless  cohorts  of  energy  that 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     71 

men  call  stupidly  mere  flame  and  wind,  obeyed  a 
higher  power  that  had  invoked  them,  yet  a  power 
that,  by  understanding  their  laws  of  being,  held  them 
most  admirably  in  control. 

This,  at  least,  seems  a  hint  of  the  explanation  that 
flashed  into  Hendricks  as  he  stared  in  amazed  be- 
wilderment from  the  shelter  of  the  nearest  boulder. 
He  read  a  sentence  in  some  natural,  forgotten  script. 
He  watched  a  primitive  ritual  that  once  invoked  the 
gods.  He  was  aware  of  rhythm,  and  he  was  aware 
of  system,  though  as  yet  he  did  not  see  the  hand  that 
wrote  this  marvellous  sentence  on  the  night.  For 
still  the  human  element  remained  invisible.  He 
only  realised — in  dim,  blundering  fashion — that  he 
witnessed  a  revelation  of  those  two  powers  which, 
in  large,  lie  at  the  foundations  of  the  Universe,  and, 
in  little,  are  the  basic  essentials  of  human  existence — 
the  powers  behind  heat  and  air.  Fragments  of  that 
talk  with  Leysin  stammered  back  across  his  mind, 
like  letters  in  some  stupendous  word  he  dared  not 
reconstruct  entire.  He  shuddered  and  grew  wise. 
Realms  of  forgotten  being  opened  their  doors  before 
his  dazzled  sight.  Vision  fluttered  into  far,  pierc- 
ing vistas  of  ancient  wonder,  haunting  and  half- 
remembered,  then  lost  its  way  in  blindness  that  was 
pain.  For  a  moment,  it  seemed,  he  was  aware  of 
majestic  Presences  behind  the  turmoil,  shadowy  but 
mighty,  charged  with  a  vague  potentiality  as  of  im- 
mense algebraical  formulae,  symbolical  and  beyond 
full  comprehension,  yet  willing  and  able  to  be  used 
for  practical  results.  He  felt  the  elements  as  nerves 
of  a  living  Universe.  .  .  .  Yet  thinking  was  not 
really  in  him  anywhere  ;  feeling  was  all  he  knew. 
The  world  he  moved  in,  as  the  script  he  read,  belonged 
to  conditions  too  utterly  remote  for  reason  to  recover 


72  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

a  single  clue  to  their  intelligible  reconstruction.  Glory, 
clean  and  strong  as  of  primitive  star-worship,  passed 
between  what  he  saw  and  all  that  he  had  ever  known 
before.  The  curtain  of  conventional  belief  was  rent 
in  twain.     The  terrific  thing  was  true.  .   .   . 

For  an  unmeasured  interval  the  tutor,  oblivious  of 
time  and  actual  place,  stood  on  the  brink  of  this 
majestic  pageant,  staring  with  breathless  awe,  while 
the  swaying  of  the  entire  scenery  increased,  like  the 
sway  of  an  ocean  lifted  to  the  sky  by  many  winds. 
Then,  suddenly,  in  one  of  those  temporary  lulls  that 
passed  between  the  beat  of  the  great  notes,  his  search- 
ing eyes  discovered  a  new  thing.  The  focus  of  his 
sight  was  altered,  and  he  realised  at  last  the  source 
of  the  directing  and  the  controlling  power.  Behind 
the  fires  and  beyond  the  smoke  he  recognised  the 
disc-like,  shining  ovals  that  upon  this  little  earth 
stand  in  the  image  of  the  one,  eternal  Likeness,  He 
saw  the  human  faces,  symbols  of  spiritual  dominion 
over  all  lesser  orders,  each  one  possessed  of  belief, 
intelligence  and  will.  Singly  so  feeble,  together  so 
invincible,  this  assemblage,  unscorched  by  the  fire 
and  by  the  wind  unmoved,  seemed  to  him  impressive 
beyond  all  possible  words.  And  a  further  inkling 
of  the  truth  flashed  on  him  as  he  stared  :  that  a 
group  of  humans,  a  crowd,  combining  upon  a  given 
object  with  concentrated  purpose,  possessed  of  that 
terrific  power,  certain  faith,  may  know  in  themselves 
the  energy  to  move  great  mountains,  and  therefore 
that  lesser  energy  to  guide  the  fluid  forces  of  the 
elements.  And  a  sense  of  cosmic  exultation  leaped 
into  his  being.  For  a  moment  he  knew  a  touch 
of  almost  frenzy.  Proud  joy  rose  in  him  like  a 
splendour  of  omnipotence.  Humanity,  it  seemed  to 
him,   here   came   into   a   grand   but    long    neglected 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     73 

corner  of  its  kingdom  as  originally  planned  by 
Heaven.  Into  the  hands  of  a  weakling  and  deficient 
boy  the  guidance  had  been  given. 

Motionless  beneath  the  stars,  lit  by  the  glare  till 
they  shone  like  idols  of  yellow  stone,  and  magnified 
by  the  sheets  of  flying,  intolerable  light  the  wind 
chased  to  and  fro,  these  rows  of  faces  appeared  at 
first  as  a  single  line  of  undifferentiated  fire  against 
the  background  of  the  night.  The  eyes  were  all 
cast  down  in  prayer,  each  mind  focused  steadily 
upon  one  clear  idea — the  control  and  assimilation  of 
two  elemental  powers.  The  crowd  was  one  ;  feeling 
was  one  ;  desire,  command  and  certain  faith  were 
one.  The  controlling  power  that  resulted  was 
irresistible. 

Then  came  a  remarkable,  concerted  movement. 
With  one  accord  the  eyes  all  opened,  blazing  with 
reflected  fire.  A  hundred  human  countenances  rose 
in  a  single  shining  line.  The  men  stood  upright. 
Swarthy  faces,  tanned  by  sun  and  wind,  heads  un- 
covered, hair  and  beards  tossing  in  the  air,  turned  all 
one  way.  Mouths  opened  too.  There  came  a  roar 
that  even  the  hurricane  could  not  drown — a  word  of 
command,  it  seemed,  that  sprang  into  the  pulses  of 
the  dancing  elements  and  reduced  their  turmoil  to 
a  wave  of  steadier  movement.  And  at  the  same 
moment  a  hundred  bodies,  naked  above  the  waist, 
arms  outstretched  and  hands  with  the  palms  held 
upwards,  swayed  forwards  through  the  smoke  and 
fire.  They  came  towards  the  spot  where,  half  con- 
cealed from  view,  the  tutor  crouched  and  watched. 

And  Hendricks,  thinking  himself  discovered,  first 
quailed,  then  rose  to  meet  them.  No  power  to  resist 
was  in  him.  It  was,  rather,  willing  response  that  he 
experienced.      He  stepped  out  from   the  shelter  of 


74  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

the  boulder  and  entered  the  brilliant  glare.  Hatless 
himself,  shoulders  squared,  cloak  flying  in  the  wind, 
he  took  three  strides  towards  the  advancing  battalion 
— then,  undecided,  paused.  For  the  line,  he  saw, 
disregarded  him  as  though  he  were  not  there  at  all. 
It  was  not  him  the  worshippers  sought.  The  entire 
troop  swept  past  to  a  point  some  fifty  feet  below 
where  the  end  of  the  ridge  broke  out  of  the  thinning 
trees.  Beautiful  as  a  curving  wave  of  flame,  the 
figures  streamed  across  the  narrow,  open  space  with 
a  drilled  precision  as  of  some  battle  line,  and  Hen- 
dricks, with  a  sense  of  wild,  secret  triumph,  saw 
them  pause  at  the  brink  of  the  platformed  ridge, 
form  up  their  serried  ranks  yet  closer,  then  open  two 
hundred  arms  to  welcome  some  one  whom  the  dark- 
ness should  immediately  deliver.  Simultaneously, 
from  the  covering  trees,  the  tall,  slim  shadow  of 
Lord  Ernie  darted  out  into  the  light. 

'  Magnificent !  '  cried  Hendricks,  but  his  voice 
was  smothered  instantly  in  a  mightier  sound,  and 
his  movement  forward  seemed  ineffective  stum- 
bling. The  hundred  voices  thundered  out  a  single 
note.  Like  a  deer  the  boy  leaped  ;  like  a  tongue 
of  flame  he  flew  to  join  his  own  ;  and  instantly 
was  surrounded,  borne  shoulder-high  upon  those 
upturned  palms,  swept  back  in  triumph  towards  the 
procession  of  enormous  fires.  Wrapped  by  smoke 
and  sparks,  lifted  by  wind,  he  became  part  of  the 
monstrous  rhythm  that  turned  that  mountain  ridge 
alive.  He  stood  upright  upon  the  platform  of  inter- 
lacing arms  ;  he  swayed  with  their  movements  as  a 
thing  of  wind  and  fire  that  flew.  The  shining  faces 
vanished  then,  turned  all  towards  the  blazing  piles 
so  that  the  boy  had  the  appearance  of  standing  on 
a  wall  of  living   black.      His  outline  was  visible  a 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     75 

moment  against  the  sky,  firelight  between  his  wide- 
stretched  legs,  streaming  from  his  hair  and  horizontal 
arms,  issuing  almost,  as  it  seemed,  from  his  very  body. 
The  next  second  he  leaped  to  the  ground,  ran  forward 
— appallingly  close — between  two  heaped -up  fires, 
flung  both  hands  heavenwards,  and — knelt. 

And  Hendricks,  sympathetically  following  the 
boy's  performance  as  though  his  own  mind  and  body 
took  part  in  it,  experienced  then  a  singular  result  : 
it  seemed  the  heart  in  him  began  to  roar.  This  was 
no  rustle  of  excited  blood  that  the  little  cavern  of  his 
skull  increased,  but  a  deeper  sound  that  proclaimed 
the  kinship  of  his  entire  being  with  the  ritual.  His 
own  nature  had  begun  to  answer.  From  that  moment 
he  perceived  the  spectacle,  not  with  the  senses  of 
sight  and  hearing,  separately,  but  with  his  entire 
body — synthetically.  He  became  a  part  of  this 
assembly  that  was  itself  one  single  instrument  :  a 
cosmic  sounding-board  for  the  rhythmical  expression 
of  impersonal  Nature  Powers.  Leysin,  he  dimly 
realised,  fixed  in  his  churchy  tenets,  remained  out- 
side, apart,  and  compromising  ;  Hendricks  accepted 
and  went  with.  All  little  customary  feelings  dipped 
utterly  away,  lost,  false,  denied,  even  as  a  unit  in 
a  crowd  loses  its  normal  characteristics  in  the 
greater  mood  that  sways  the  whole.  The  fire  no 
longer  burned  him,  for  he  was  the  fire  ;  nor  did  he 
stagger  against  the  furious  wind,  because  the  wind 
was  in  his  heart.  He  moved  all  over,  alive  in  every 
point  and  corner.  With  his  skin  he  breathed,  his 
bones  and  tissue  ran  with  glorious  heat.  He  cried 
aloud.  He  praised.  '  I  am  the  whirlwind  and  I  am 
the  fire  !  Fire  that  lights  but  does  not  burn,  and 
wind  that  blows  the  heart  to  flame  !  '  His  body  sang 
it,  or  rather  the  elements  sang  it  through  his  body ; 


7  6  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

for  the  sound  of  his  voice  was  not  audible,  and  it 
was  wind  and  fire  that  thundered  forth  his  feeling  in 
their  crashing  rhythm. 


IX 

And  so  it  was  that  he  no  longer  saw  this  thing 
pictorially,  nor  in  the  little  detached  reports  the 
individual  senses  brought,  but  knew  it  in  himself 
complete,  as  a  man  knows  love  and  passion.  Memory 
afterwards  translated  these  vast  central  feelings  into 
pictures,  but  the  pictures  touched  reality  without 
containing  it.  Like  a  vision  it  happened  all  at  once, 
as  a  room  or  landscape  happens,  and  what  happens 
all  at  once,  coming  through  a  synthesis  of  the  senses, 
is  not  properly  describable  later.  To  instantaneous 
knowledge  mere  sequence  is  a  falsehood.  The 
sequence  first  comes  in  with  the  telling  afterwards. 
That  kneeling  form,  he  understood,  was  the  empty 
vessel  to  which  conventional  life  had  hitherto  denied 
the  heat  and  air  it  craved.  The  breath  of  life  now 
poured  at  full  tide  into  it,  the  fire  of  deity  lit  its 
heart  of  touchwood,  wind  blew  into  desire  ;  and  later 
flame  would  burst  forth  in  action,  consuming  opposi- 
tion. He  must  let  it  fill  to  the  brim.  It  was  not 
salvation,  but  creation.  Then  thought  went  out, 
extinguished  by  a  puff  of  something  greater.  .  .  . 

For  beyond  the  smoke  and  sparks,  beyond  the 
space  the  men  had  occupied,  a  new  and  gentler 
movement,  lyrical  with  bird-like  beauty,  ran  sud- 
denly along  the  ridge.  What  Hendricks  had 
taken  for  branches  heaped  in  rows  for  the  burn- 
ing, stirred  marvellously  throughout  their  whole 
collective  mass,  stirred  sweetly,  too,  and  with 
an  exquisite  loveliness.     The  entire  line  rose  grace- 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     77 

fully  into  the  air  with  a  whirr  as  of  sweeping 
birds.  There  was  a  soft  and  undulating  motion  as 
though  a  draught  of  flowing  wind  turned  faintly 
visible,  yet  with  an  increasing  brilliance,  like  shining 
lilies  of  flame  that  now  flocked  forward  in  a  troop, 
bending  deliciously  all  one  way.  And  in  the  same 
second  these  tall  lilies  of  fire  revealed  themselves  as 
figures,  naked  above  the  waist,  hair  streaming  on  the 
wind,  eyes  alight  and  bare  arms  waving.  Above  the 
men's  deep  pedal  bass  their  voices  rose  with  clear, 
shrill  sweetness  on  the  storm.  The  band  swept 
forwards  swift  as  wind  towards  the  kneeling  boy. 
The  long  line  curved  about  him  foldingly.  The 
women  took  him  as  the  south  wind  takes  a  bird. 

There  may  have  been — indeed,  there  was — an 
interval,  for  Hendricks  caught,  again  and  again  re- 
peated, the  boy's  great  cry  of  passionate  delight  above 
the  tumult.  Ringing  and  virile  it  rose  to  heaven, 
clear  as  a  fine-wrought  bell.  And  instantaneously 
the  knitted  figures  of  flame  disentangled  themselves 
again,  the  mass  unfolded  like  an  opening  flower,  and, 
as  by  a  military  word  of  command,  dissolved  itself 
once  more  into  a  long  thin  line  of  running  fire. 
The  women  advanced,  and  the  waiting  men  flowed 
forward  in  a  stream  to  meet  them.  This  inter- 
weaving of  the  figures  was  as  easily  accomplished  as 
the  mingling  of  light  and  heavy  threads  upon  some 
living  loom.  Hands  joining  hands,  all  singing,  these 
naked  worshippers  of  fire  and  wind  passed  in  and  out 
among  the  blazing  piles  with  a  headlong  precision 
that  was  torrential  and  yet  orderly.  The  speed 
increased  ;  the  faces  flashed  and  vanished,  then 
flashed  and  passed  again  ;  each  woman  between  two 
men,  each  man  between  two  women,  and  Lord 
Ernie,   radiantly   alive,   between    two    girls   of  rich, 


78  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

o'erflowing  beauty.  Their  movements  were  undu- 
lating, like  the  undulations  of  fire,  yet  with  sudden, 
unexpected  upward  leaps  as  when  fire  is  partnered 
abruptly  by  a  cantering  wind.  For  the  women  were 
fire,  and  the  men  were  wind.  The  imitative  dance 
was  in  full  swing.  The  marvellous  wind  and  fire 
ritual  unrolled  its  old-world  magic. 

It  was  awe-inspiring  certainly,  but  for  Hendricks, 
as  he  watched,  the  terror  of  big  conflagrations  was 
wholly  absent  :  rather,  he  felt  the  sense  of  deep 
security  that  rhythmic  movement  causes.  Bathed  in 
a  sea  of  elemental  power,  he  burned  to  share  the 
pagan  splendour  and  the  rush  of  primitive  delight. 
It  seemed  he  had  a  cosmic  body  in  which  new  centres 
stirred  to  life,  linking  him  on  to  this  source  of 
natural  forces.  Through  these  centres  he  drew 
the  chaotic  energy  into  nerves  and  blood  and  muscle, 
into  the  very  substance  of  his  thought,  indeed, 
transmuting  them  into  the  magic  of  the  will. 
Abundant  and  inexhaustible  vigour  filled  the  air, 
pouring  freely  into  whatever  empty  receptacle  lay  at 
hand.  Sheets  of  flame,  whole  separate  fragments  of 
it,  torn  at  the  edges,  raced,  loudly,  hungrily  flapping 
on  vehement  gusts  of  wind  ;  curved  as  they  flew  ; 
leaped,  twisted,  flashed  and  vanished.  And  the 
figures  closely  copied  them.  The  women  tossed 
their  bodies  aloft,  then  dipped  suddenly  to  the  earth, 
invisible,  till  the  rushing  men  urged  them  into  view 
again  with  wild  impetuous  swing,  so  that  the  entire 
line  stretched  and  contracted  like  an  immense  elastic 
band  of  life,  now  knotted,  now  dissolved. 

Yet,  while  of  raging  and  terrific  beauty,  there 
was  never  that  mad  abandon  which  is  disorder  ;  but 
rather  a  kind  of  sacred  natural  revel  that  prohibited 
mere  licence.     There  was  even  a  singular  austerity  in 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     79 

it  that  betrayed  a  definite  ritual  and  not  mere  reckless 
pageantry.  No  walls  could  possibly  have  contained 
it.  In  cathedral,  temple,  or  measured  space,  however 
grand,  it  could  only  have  seemed  exaggerated  and 
apostate  ;  here,  beneath  the  open  sky,  it  was  beautiful 
and  true.  For  overhead  the  stars  burned  clear  and 
steady,  the  constellations  watching  it  from  their 
immovable  towers — a  representation  of  their  own 
leisured  and  hierarchic  dance  in  swifter  miniature. 
And  indeed  this  relationship  it  bore  to  a  universal 
rhythm  was  the  key,  it  seemed,  to  its  deep  signifi- 
cance ;  for  the  close  imitation  of  natural  movements 
seduced  the  colossal  powers  of  fire  and  wind  to  swell 
human  emotions  till  they  became  mould  and  vessel 
for  this  elemental  manifestation  in  men  and  women. 
Golden  yellow  in  the  blaze,  the  limbs  of  the  women 
flashed  and  passed  ;  their  hair  flew  dark  a  moment 
across  gleaming  breasts  ;  and  their  waving  arms 
tossed  in  ever-shifting  patterns  through  the  driving 
smoke.  The  fires  boiled  and  roared,  scattering 
torrents  of  showering  sparks  like  stars  ;  and  amid  it 
all  the  slim,  white  shoulders  of  the  boy,  his  clothes 
torn  from  him,  his  eyes  ablaze,  and  his  lips  opened 
to  the  singing  as  though  he  had  known  it  always, 
drove  to  and  fro  on  the  crest  of  the  ritual  like  some 
flying  figure  of  wind  and  fire  incarnate. 

All  of  which,  instantaneously  yet  in  sequence, 
Hendricks  witnessed,  painted  upon  the  wild  night 
sky.  A  volcanic  energy  poured  through  him  too. 
He  knew  a  golden  enthusiasm  of  immeasurable 
strength,  of  unconquerable  hope,  of  irresistible  delight. 
Wind  set  his  feet  to  dancing,  and  fire  swept  across 
his  face  without  a  trace  of  burning. 

Nature  was  part  of  him.  He  had  stepped  inside. 
No    obstacle    existed    that    could    withstand    for    a 


80  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

single  second  the  torrential  energy  that  fired  his 
heart  and  blood.  There  was  lightning  in  his  veins. 
He  could  sweep  aside  life's  difficult  barriers  with  the 
ease  of  a  tornado,  and  shake  the  rubbish  of  doubt 
and  care  from  the  years  with  earthquake  shocks. 
Empires  he  could  mould,  and  play  with  nations, 
drive  men  and  women  before  him  like  a  flock  of 
sheep,  shatter  convention,  and  dislocate  the  machinery 
time  has  foisted  upon  natural  energies.  He  knew 
in  himself  the  omnipotence  of  the  lesser  elemental 
deities.  Yet,  as  sympathetic  observer,  he  can  but 
have  felt  a  tithe  of  what  Lord  Ernie  felt. 

'  We  are  the  whirlwind  and  we  are  the  fire  ! '  he 
cried  aloud  with  the  rushing  worshippers.  '  We  are 
unconquerable  and  immense !  We  destroy  the  luke- 
warm and  absorb  the  weak  !  For  we  can  make  evil 
into  good  by  bending  it  all  one  way  !   .   .  .' 

The  roar  swept  thunderingly  past  him,  catching 
at  his  voice  and  body.  He  felt  himself  snatched 
forward  by  the  wind.  The  fire  licked  sweetly  at 
him.  It  was  the  final  abandonment.  He  plunged 
recklessly  towards  the  surge  of  dancers.   .   .   . 

X 

What  stopped  him  he  did  not  know.  Some  hard 
and  steely  thing  pricked  sharply  into  him.  An 
opposing  power,  fierce  as  a  sword,  stabbed  at  his 
heart — and  he  heard  a  little  sound  quite  close  beside 
him,  a  sound  that  pierced  the  babel,  reaching  his 
consciousness  as  from  far  away. 

1  Keep  still  !  Cling  tight  to  this  old  rock  !  Hold 
yourself  in,  or  else  they'll  have  you  too ! ' 

It  was  as  if  some  insect  scratched  within  his  ear. 
His  arm,  that  same  instant,  was  violently  seized.     He 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     81 

came  down  with  a  crash.  He  had  been  half  in  the 
air.     He  had  been  dancing. 

'  Turn  your  eyes  away,  away  !  Take  hold  of  this 
big  tree  ! '  The  voice  cried  furiously,  but  with  a 
petty  human  passion  in  it  that  marred  the  world. 
There  was  an  intolerable  revulsion  in  him  as  he  heard 
it.  He  felt  himself  dragged  forcibly  backwards.  He 
lost  his  balance,  stumbling  among  loose  stones. 

'  Loose  me  !  Let  me  go  !  '  he  shouted,  struggling 
like  a  wild  animal,  yet  vainly,  against  the  inflexible 
grip  that  held  him.  '  I  am  one  with  the  fire  that 
lights  but  does  not  burn.  I  am  the  wind  that  blows 
the  worlds  along  !  Damnation  take  you.  .  .  .  Let 
me  free  !   .   .  .' 

Confusion  caught  him,  smothering  speech  and 
blinding  sight.  He  fell  backwards,  away  from  the 
heat  and  wind.  He  was  furious,  but  furious  with 
he  knew  not  whom  or  what.  The  interference  had 
destroyed  the  rhythm,  broken  it  into  fragments. 
Violent  impulses  clashed  through  him  without  the 
will  to  choose  or  guide  them.  For  power  had 
deserted  him  and  flowed  elsewhere.  He  stood  no 
longer  in  the  stream  of  energy.  He  was  emptied. 
And  at  first  he  could  not  tell  whether  his  instinct 
was  to  return  himself,  to  rescue  his  precious  boy,  or — 
to  crush  the  interfering  object  out  of  existence  with 
what  was  left  to  him  of  raging  anger.  He  turned, 
stood  up,  and  flung  the  Pasteur  aside  with  violence. 
He  raised  his  feet  to  stamp  and  kill  .  .  .  when  a 
phrase  with  meaning  darted  suddenly  across  his  wild 
confusion  and  recalled  him  to  some  fragment  of  truer 
responsibility  and  life. 

'  .  .  .  There'll  be  only  violence  in  him — reckless 
violence  instead  of  strength — destructive.  Save  him 
before  it  is  too  late  ! ' 

G 


82  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

*  It  is  too  late,'  he  roared  in  answer.  '  What 
devil  hinders  me  ? ' 

But  his  roar  was  feeble,  and  his  ironed  boots 
refused  the  stamping.  Power  slipped  wholly  out  of 
him.  The  rhythm  poured  past,  instead  of  through 
him.  Interference  had  destroyed  the  circuit.  More 
glimmerings  of  responsibility  came  back.  He  stooped 
like  a  drunken  man  and  helped  the  other  to  his  feet. 
The  rapidity  of  the  change  was  curious,  proving 
that  the  spell  had  been  put  upon  him  from  without. 
It  was  not,  as  with  the  boy,  mere  development  of 
pre-existing  tendencies. 

'  Help  me,'  he  implored  suddenly  instead,  '  help 
me  !  There  has  been  madness  in  me.  For  God's 
sake,  help  me  to  get  him  out  !  '  It  seemed  the  face 
of  the  old  Marquess,  stern  and  terrible,  broke  an 
instant  through  the  smoky  air,  black  with  reproach 
and  anger.  And,  with  a  violent  effort  of  the  will, 
Hendricks  turned  round  to  face  the  elemental  orgy, 
bent  on  rescue.  But  this  time  the  heat  was  intoler- 
able and  drove  him  back.  The  hair,  hitherto  un- 
touched, now  singed  upon  his  head.  Fire  licked  his 
very  breath  away.  He  bent  double,  covering  his 
face  with  arms  and  cloak. 

'  Pray  !  '  shouted  Leysin,  dropping  to  his  knees. 
'  It  is  the  only  way.  My  God  is  higher  than  this. 
Pray,  pray  !  ' 

And,  automatically,  Hendricks  fell  upon  his  knees 
beside  him,  though  to  pray  he  knew  not  how.  For 
no  real  faith  was  in  him  as  in  the  other,  and  his  eye 
was  far  from  single.  The  fast  fading  grandeur  of 
what  he  had  experienced  still  left  its  pagan  tumult  in 
his  blood.  The  pretence  of  prayer  could  only  have 
been  blasphemy.  He  watched  instead,  letting  the 
other  invoke  his  mighty  Deity  alone,  that  Deity  he 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     83 

had  served  unflinchingly  all  his  life  with  faith  and 
fasting,  and  with  belief  beyond  assault. 

It  was  an  impressive  picture,  fraught  with 
passionate  drama.  On  his  knees  behind  a  shelter- 
ing boulder,  a  blackened  pine-tree  tossing  scorched 
branches  above  his  head,  this  righteous  man  prayed  to 
his  God,  sure  of  his  triumphant  answer.  Hendricks 
watched  with  an  admiration  that  made  him  realise 
his  own  insignificance.  The  eyes  were  closed,  the 
leonine  big  head  set  firm  upon  the  diminutive 
body,  the  face  now  lit  by  flame,  now  veiled  by 
smoke,  the  strong  hands  clasped  together  and 
upraised.  He  envied  him.  He  recognised,  too, 
that  the  elements  themselves,  with  all  their  chaos  of 
might  and  terror,  were  after  all  but  servants  of  the 
Vastness  which  dips  the  butterflies  in  colour  and 
puts  down  upon  the  breasts  of  little  robins.  And, 
because  the  Pasteur's  life  had  been  always  prayer  in 
action,  his  little  human  will  invoked  the  Will  of 
Greatness,  merged  with  it,  used  it,  and  directed  it 
steadily  against  the  commotion  of  these  unleashed 
elements.  Certain  of  himself  and  of  his  God,  the 
Pasteur  never  doubted.  His  prayer  set  instantly  in 
action  those  forces  which  balance  suns  and  keep  the 
stars  afloat. 

Thus,  trembling  with  terror  that  made  him 
wholly  ineffective,  Hendricks  watched,  and,  as  he 
watched,  became  aware  of  the  amazing  change.  For 
it  seemed  as  if  a  stream  of  power,  steady  and  in 
opposition  to  the  tumult,  now  poured  audaciously 
against  the  elemental  rhythm,  altering  its  direction, 
modifying  gradually  its  stupendous  impetus.  There 
were  pauses  in  the  huge  vibrations  :  they  wavered, 
broke,  and  fled.  They  knew  confusion,  as  when  the 
prow  of  a  steel-nosed  vessel  drives  against  the  tide. 


84  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

The  tide  is  vaster,  but  the  steel  is — different.  The 
whole  sky  shivered,  as  this  new  entering  force,  so 
small,  so  soft,  yet  of  such  incalculable  energy,  began 
at  once  its  overmastering  effect.  Signs  of  violence 
or  rout,  or  of  anything  disordered,  had  no  part  in  it ; 
excess  before  it  slipped  into  willing  harness  ;  there 
was  light  that  sponged  away  all  glare,  as  when 
morning  sunshine  cleans  a  forest  of  its  shadows. 
Some  little  whispering  power  sang  marvellously  as  of 
old  across  the  desolate  big  mountains,  '  Peace  !  Be 
still!'  turning  the  monstrous  turbulence  into  obedient 
sweetness.  And  upon  his  face  and  hands  Hendricks 
felt  faint,  delicate  touches  of  some  refreshing  softness 
that  he  could  not  understand. 

Yet  not  instantly  was  this  harmony  restored  ;  at 
first  there  was  the  stress  of  vehement  opposition. 
The  night  of  wind  and  fire  drove  roaring  through  the 
sky.  There  were  bursts  of  triumphant  tumult,  but 
convulsion  in  them  and  no  true  steadiness  as  before. 
The  human  figures  hitherto  had  danced  with  that 
fluid  appearance  which  belongs  to  fire,  and  with  that 
instantaneous  rush  which  is  of  wind,  the  men  increas- 
ing the  women,  and  the  women  answering  with  joy  ; 
limbs  and  faces  had  melted  into  each  other  till  the 
circular  ritual  looked  like  a  glowing  wheel  of  flame 
rotating  audibly.  But  slowly  now  the  speed  of  the 
wheel  decreased  ;  the  single  utterance  was  marred  by 
the  crying  of  many  voices,  all  at  different  pitch,  dis- 
cordant, inharmonious,  dismayed.  The  fires  somehow 
dwindled  ;  there  came  pauses  in  the  wind  ;  and 
Hendricks  became  aware  of  a  curious  hissing  noise, 
as  more  and  more  of  these  odd  soft  touches  found  his 
face  and  hands.  Here  and  there,  he  saw,  a  figure 
stumbled,  fell,  then  gathered  itself  clumsily  together 
again  with  a  frightened  shout,  breaking  violently  out 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     85 

of  the  circle.  More  and  more  these  figures  blundered 
and  dropped  out ;  and  although  they  returned  again, 
so  that  the  dance  apparently  increased,  these  were 
but  moments  in  the  final  violence  of  the  dispersing 
hurricane.  The  rejected  ones  dashed  back  wildly  into 
the  wrong  places  ;  men  and  women  no  longer  stood 
alternate,  but  in  groups  together,  falsely  related. 
The  entire  movement  was  dislocated  ;  the  ceremony 
grew  rapidly  incoherent  ;  meaning  forsook  it.  The 
composite  instrument  that  had  transmuted  the 
elemental  forces  into  human,  emotional  storage  was 
imperfect,  broken,  out  of  tune.  The  disarray 
turned  rout. 

And  then  it  was,  while  Leysin  continued  without 
ceasing  his  burning  and  successful  prayer,  that  his 
companion,  conscious  of  returning  harmony,  rose  to 
his  feet,  aware  suddenly  that  he  could  also  help.  A 
portion  of  the  powers  he  had  absorbed  still  worked 
in  him,  but  in  a  new  direction.  He  felt  confident 
and  unafraid.  He  did  not  stumble.  With  unerring 
tread  he  advanced  towards  the  lessening  fires,  feeling 
as  he  did  so  the  cold  soft  touches  multiply  with  a 
rush  upon  his  skin.  From  all  sides  they  came  by 
hundreds,  like  messengers  of  help. 

'  Ernest !  '  he  cried  aloud,  and  his  voice,  though 
little  raised,  carried  resonantly  above  the  dying 
turmoil ;  '  Ernest !  Come  back  to  us.  Your  father 
calls  you  ! ' 

And  from  threescore  faces  hurrying  in  confusion 
through  the  smoke,  one  paused  and  turned.  It 
stood  apart,  hovering  as  though  in  air,  while  the 
mob  of  disordered  figures  rushed  in  a  body  along 
the  ridge.  Plunging  like  frightened  cattle  below  the 
farther  edge,  then  vanishing  into  thick  darkness, 
they   left   behind   them   this    one    solitary  face.      A 


86  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

final  dying  flame  licked  out  at  it  ;  a  rush  of  smoke 
drove  past  to  hide  it  ;  there  was  a  high,  wild  scream 
— and  the  figure  shot  forward  with  a  headlong  leap 
and  fell  with  a  crash  at  Hendricks'  feet.  Lord 
Ernie,  blackened  by  smoke  and  scorched  by  fire,  lay 
safe  outside  the  danger  zone. 

And  Hendricks  knelt  beside  him.  Remorse  and 
shame  made  him  powerless  to  do  more  as  he  pulled 
the  torn  clothing  over  the  neck  and  chest  and  heard 
his  own  heart  begging  for  forgiveness.  He  realised 
his  own  weakness  and  faithlessness.  A  great  tempta- 
tion had  found  him  wanting.   .   .   . 

It  was  owing  to  Leysin  that  the  rescue  was 
complete.     The  Pasteur  was  instantly  by  his  side. 

*  Saved  as  by  water,'  he  cried,  as  he  folded 
his  cloak  about  the  prostrate  body,  and  then  raised 
the  head  and  shoulders  ;  '  saved  by  His  ministers  of 
rain.  For  His  miracles  are  love,  and  work  through 
natural  laws.' 

He  made  a  sign  to  Hendricks.  Carrying  the 
boy  between  them,  they  scrambled  down  the  slope 
into  the  shelter  of  the  trees  below.  The  cold,  soft 
touches  were  then  explained.  Thzjoran  had  dropped 
as  suddenly  as  it  rose,  and  the  torrential  rain  that 
invariably  follows  now  poured  in  rivers  from  the  sky. 
Water,  drenching  the  fires  and  padding  the  savage 
wind,  had  stopped  the  dancers  midway  in  their 
frenzied  ritual.  It  was  the  element  they  dreaded, 
for  it  was  hostile.  Rain  soused  the  mountain  ridge, 
extinguishing  the  last  embers  of  the  numerous  fires. 
It  rushed  in  rivulets  between  their  feet.  The  heated 
earth  gave  out  a  hissing  steam,  and  the  only  sound 
in  the  spaces  where  wind  and  fire  had  boomed  and 
thundered  a  little  while  before  was  now  the  splash  of 
water  and  the  drip  of  quenching  drops. 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     87 

In  the  cover  of  the  sheltering  trees  the  body 
stirred,  lifted  its  head,  and  sat  up  slowly.  The  eyes 
opened. 

'  I'm  cold.  I'm  frightened,'  whispered  a  shivering 
voice.      '  Where  am  I  ? ' 

Only  the  pelt  and  thud  of  the  rain  sounded  behind 
the  quavering  words. 

'  Where  are  the  others  ?  Have  I  been  away  ? 
Hendricks — Mr.  Hendricks — is  that  you ?  ' 

He  stared  about  him,  his  face  now  a  mere  luminous 
disc  in  the  thick  darkness.  No  breath  of  wind  was 
loose.  They  spoke  to  him  till  he  answered  with 
assurance,  groping  to  find  their  hands  with  his  own, 
his  words  confused  and  strange  with  hidden  mean- 
ing for  a  time.  '  I'm  all  right  now,'  he  kept  repeat- 
ing. '  I  know  exactly.  It  was  one  of  my  big 
dreams  ...  I  suppose  I  fell  asleep  .  .  .  and  the 
rain  woke  me.  Great  heavens  !  What  a  night  to 
be  out.'  And  then  he  clambered  vigorously  to  his 
feet  with  a  sudden  movement  of  great  energy  again, 
saying  that  hunger  was  in  him  and  he  must  eat. 
There  was  no  complaint  of  heat  or  cold,  of  burning 
or  of  bruises.  The  boy  recovered  marvellously. 
In  ten  minutes,  breaking  away  from  all  support,  he 
led,  as  they  descended  through  the  dripping  forest 
in  the  gloom  and  chill  of  very  early  morning.  It 
was  the  others  who  called  to  him  for  guidance  in 
the  tangled  woods.  Lord  Ernie  was  in  the  lead. 
Throughout  the  difficult  woods  he  was  ever  in  front, 
and  singing  : 

'  Fire  that  lights  but  does  not  burn  !  And  wind 
that  blows  the  heart  to  flame !  They  both  are  in 
me  now  for  ever  and  ever  !  Oh,  praise  the  Lord 
of  Fire  and  the  Lord  of  Wind  .   .   .  !  ' 

And  this  voice,  now  near,  now  distant,  sounding 


88  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

through  the  dripping  forest  on  their  homeward 
journey,  was  an  experience  weird  and  unforgettable 
for  those  other  two.  Leysin,  it  seemed,  had  one 
sentence  only  which  he  kept  repeating  to  himself — 
'  Heaven  grant  he  may  direct  it  all  for  good.  For 
they  have  filled  him  to  the  brim,  and  he  is  become 
an  instrument  of  power.' 

But  Hendricks,  though  he  understood  the  risk, 
felt  only  confidence.  Lord  Ernie's  regeneration 
had  begun. 

Soaked  and  bedraggled,  all  three,  they  reached 
the  village  about  two  o'clock.  The  boy,  utterly  un- 
manageable, said  an  emphatic  No  to  spirits,  soup,  or 
medical  appliances.  His  skin,  indeed,  snowed  no  signs 
of  burning,  nor  was  there  the  smallest  symptom  of  cold 
or  fever  in  him.  *  I'm  a  perfect  furnace,'  he  laughed; 
'  I  feel  health  and  strength  personified.'  And  the 
brightness  of  his  eyes,  his  radiant  colour,  the  vigour 
of  his  voice  and  manner — both  in  some  way  astonish- 
ing— made  all  pretence  of  assistance  unnecessary  and 
absurd.  '  It's  like  a  new  birth,'  he  cried  to  Hen- 
dricks, as  he  almost  cantered  beside  him  down  the 
road  to  their  house,  'and,  by  Jove,  I'll  wake  'em  up 
at  home  and  make  the  world  go  round.  I  know  a 
hundred  schemes.  I  tell  you,  sir,  I'm  simply  bursting  ! 
For  the  first  time  I'm  alive ! ' 

And  an  hour  later,  when  the  tutor  peeped  in  upon 
him,  the  boy  was  calmly  sleeping.  The  candle-light, 
shaded  carefully  with  one  hand,  fell  upon  the  face. 
There  were  new  lines  and  a  new  expression  in  it. 
Will  and  purpose  showed  in  the  stern  set  of  the  lips 
and  jaw.  It  was  the  face  of  a  man,  and  of  a  man  one 
would  not  lightly  trifle  with.  Purpose,  will,  and 
power  were  established  on  their  thrones.  To  such  a 
man  the  entire  world  might  one  day  bow  the  head. 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE     89 

'  If  only  it  will  last,'  thought  Hendricks,  as, 
shaken,  bewildered,  and  more  than  a  little  awed,  he 
tiptoed  out  of  the  room  again  and  went  to  bed.  But 
through  his  dreams,  sheeted  in  flame  and  veiled  in 
angry  smoke,  the  face  of  the  old  Marquess  glowered 
upon  him  from  a  heavy  sky  above  ancestral  towers. 


XI 

From  the  obituary  notices  of  the  9th  Marquess  of 
Oakham  the  following  selections  have  their  interest  : 
He  succeeded  to  his  father,  then  in  the  Cabinet  as 
Minister  for  Foreign  Affairs,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
one.  His  career  was  brief  but  singular,  the  early 
magnificence  of  the  younger  Pitt  offering  a  standard 
of  comparison,  though  by  no  means  a  parallel,  to  his 
short  record  of  astonishing  achievement.  His  effect 
upon  the  world,  first  as  Chief  of  the  Government 
Labour  Department  and  subsequently  as  Home 
Secretary,  and  Minister  of  War,  is  described  as 
shattering,  even  cataclysmic.  His  public  life  lasted 
five  years.  He  died  at  the  age  of  twenty -nine. 
His  personality  was  revolutionary  and  overwhelming. 

For,  judging  by  these  extracts,  he  was  a  '  Napol- 
eonic figure  whose  personal  influence  combined  the 
impetus  of  Mirabeau  and  the  dominance  of  Alex- 
ander. His  authority  held  an  incalculable  element, 
precisely  described  as  uncanny.  His  spirit  was 
puissant,  elemental,  his  activity  irresistible.'  Yet, 
according  to  another  journal,  '  he  was,  properly 
speaking,  neither  intellectual,  astute,  nor  diplomatic, 
and  possessed  as  little  subtlety  as  might  be  expected 
of  a  miner  whose  psychology  was  called  upon  to 
explain  the  Trinity.  In  no  sense  was  he  Statesman, 
and  even  less  strategist,  yet  his  name  swept  Europe, 


9o  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

changed  the  map  of  the  Nearer  East,  its  mere 
whisper  among  the  Chancelleries  convulsing  men's 
counsels  with  an  influence  almost  menacing.' 

His  enthusiasm  appears  to  have  been  amazing. 
'  Some  stupendous  and  untiring  energy  drove 
through  him,  paralysing  attack,  and  rendering  the 
bitterest  and  most  skilful  opposition  nugatory.  His 
hand  was  imperious,  upsetting  with  a  touch  the 
chessboards  set  by  the  most  able  statecraft,  and  his 
voice  was  heard  with  a  kind  of  reverence  in  every 
capital.' 

The  brevity  of  his  astonishing  career  called  for 
universal  comment,  as  did  the  hypnotising  effect  of 
his  singular  ascendency.  *  In  five  short  years  of 
power  he  achieved  his  sway.  He  rushed  upon  the 
world,  he  shook  it,  he  retired,'  as  one  journal 
picturesquely  phrased  it.  '  The  manner  of  his 
ending,  moreover — a  stroke  of  lightning, — seemed 
in  keeping  with  his  life.  There  was  neither  linger- 
ing, delay,  nor  warning.  Of  distinguished  stock, 
noble,  yet  ordinary  enough  in  all  but  name,  his  power 
is  unexplained  by  hereditv  ;  his  family  furnished  no 
approach  to  greatness,  as  history  supplied  no  parallel 
to  his  dynamic  intensity.  Nor,  we  are  informed, 
among  his  near  of  kin,  does  any  inherit  his  volcanic 
energy.' 

The  world,  however,  was  apparently  well  relieved 
of  his  tumultuous  presence,  for  his  influence  was 
generally  surveyed  as  *  destructive  rather  than  con- 
structive.' He  was  unmarried,  and  the  title  went  to 
a  nephew. 

The  cheaper  journals  abounded,  of  course,  in 
details  of  his  personal  and  private  life  that  were 
freely  copied  into  the  foreign  press,  and  supply 
curious   material  for  the   student   of  human  nature 


REGENERATION  OF  LORD  ERNIE    91 

and  the  psychologist.  The  amazing  revelations  no 
doubt  were  picturesquely  exaggerated,  yet  the  sub- 
stratum of  truth  in  them  all  was  generally  admitted. 
No  contradictions,  at  any  rate,  appeared.  They  read 
like  the  story  of  some  primitive,  wild  giant  let  loose 
upon  the  world — primitive,  because  his  specific  brain 
power  was  admittedly  of  no  high  order  ;  wild,  be- 
cause he  was  in  favour  of  fierce,  spontaneous  action, 
and  his  mere  presence,  on  occasions,  could  stir  a 
nation,  not  alone  a  crowd,  to  vehement,  terrific 
methods.  His  energy  seemed  inexhaustible,  his  fire 
inextinguishable. 

Legends  were  rife,  even  before  he  died,  among 
the  peasantry  of  his  Scotch  estates,  that  he  was 
in  league  with  the  devil.  His  habit  of  keeping 
enormous  fires  in  his  private  rooms,  fires  that  burned 
day  and  night  from  January  to  December,  and  in 
open  hearths  widened  to  thrice  their  natural  size, 
stimulated  the  growth  of  this  particular  myth  among 
those  of  his  personal  environment.  All  manner  of 
stories  raged.  But  it  was  his  strange  custom  out-of- 
doors  that  provided  the  diabolical  suggestion.  For, 
'  behind  a  specially  walled-in  space  on  an  open  ridge, 
denuded  of  pines,  in  a  distant  part  of  the  estate,  a 
series  of  gigantic  heaps  of  wood,  all  ready  to  ignite, 
were — it  was  said — kept  in  a  state  of  constant  pre- 
paredness. And  on  stormy  nights,  especially  when 
winds  were  high,  and  invariably  at  the  period  of  the 
equinoctial  tempests,  his  lordship  would  himself  light 
these  tremendous  bonfires,  and  spend  the  nocturnal 
hours  in  their  blazing  presence,  communing,  the 
stories  variously  relate,  with  the  witches  at  their 
Sabbath,  or  with  hordes  of  fire-spirits,  who  emerged 
from  the  Bottomless  Pit  in  order  to  feed  his  soul 
with     their    unquenchable     supplies.       From    these 


92  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

nightly  orgies,  it  seems  clear,  at  any  rate,  he  re- 
turned at  dawn  with  a  splendour  of  energy  that  no 
one  could  resist,  and  with  a  mien  whose  grandeur 
invited  worship  rather  than  inspired  alarm.' 

His  biography,  it  was  further  stated,  would  be 
written  by  Sir  John  Hendricks,  Bt.,  who  began  life  as 
Private  Secretary  to  his  father,  the  8th  Marquess,  but 
whose  rapid  rise  to  position  was  due  to  his  intimate 
association  as  trusted  friend  and  adviser  to  the  sub- 
ject of  these  obituary  notices.  The  biography,  how- 
ever, had  not  appeared,  within  five  years  of  Lord 
Oakham's  sudden  death,  and  curiosity  is  only  further 
stimulated  by  the  suggestive  whisper  that  it  never 
will,  and  never  can  appear. 


THE  SACRIFICE 


93 


THE  SACRIFICE 


Limasson  was  a  religious  man,  though  of  what 
depth  and  quality  were  unknown,  since  no  trial  of 
ultimate  severity  had  yet  tested  him.  An  adherent 
of  no  particular  creed,  he  yet  had  his  gods  ;  and  his 
self-discipline  was  probably  more  rigorous  than  his 
friends  conjectured.  He  was  so  reserved.  Few 
guessed,  perhaps,  the  desires  conquered,  the  passions 
regulated,  the  inner  tendencies  trained  and  schooled 
— not  by  denying  their  expression,  but  by  transmut- 
ing them  alchemically  into  nobler  channels.  He 
had  in  him  the  makings  of  an  enthusiastic  devotee, 
and  might  have  become  such  but  for  two  limitations 
that  prevented.  He  loved  his  wealth,  labouring  to 
increase  it  to  the  neglect  of  other  interests  ;  and, 
secondly,  instead  of  following  up  one  steady  line  of 
search,  he  scattered  himself  upon  many  picturesque 
theories,  like  an  actor  who  wants  to  play  all  parts 
rather  than  concentrate  on  one.  And  the  more 
picturesque  the  part,  the  more  he  was  attracted. 
Thus,  though  he  did  his  duty  unshrinkingly  and  with 
a  touch  of  love,  he  accused  himself  sometimes  of 
merely  gratifying  a  sensuous  taste  in  spiritual  sensa- 
tions. There  was  this  unbalance  in  him  that  argued 
want  of  depth. 

95 


96  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

As  for  his  gods — in  the  end  he  discovered  their 
reality  by  first  doubting,  then  denying  their  existence. 

It  was  this  denial  and  doubt  that  restored  them 
to  their  thrones,  converting  his  dilettante  skirmishes 
into  genuine,  deep  belief;  and  the  proof  came  to 
him  one  summer  in  early  June  when  he  was  making 
ready  to  leave  town  for  his  annual  month  among  the 
mountains. 

With  Limasson  mountains,  in  some  inexplicable 
sense,  were  a  passion  almost,  and  climbing  so  deep  a 
pleasure  that  the  ordinary  scrambler  hardly  under- 
stood it.  Grave  as  a  kind  of  worship  it  was  to 
him  ;  the  preparations  for  an  ascent,  the  ascent  itself 
in  particular,  involved  a  concentration  that  seemed 
symbolical  as  of  a  ritual.  He  not  only  loved  the 
heights,  the  massive  grandeur,  the  splendour  of  vast 
proportions  blocked  in  space,  but  loved  them  with 
a  respect  that  held  a  touch  of  awe.  The  emotion 
mountains  stirred  in  him,  one  might  say,  was  of  that 
profound,  incalculable  kind  that  held  kinship  with 
his  religious  feelings,  half  realised  though  these  were. 
His  gods  had  their  invisible  thrones  somewhere  among 
the  grim,  forbidding  heights.  He  prepared  himself 
for  this  annual  mountaineering  with  the  same  earnest- 
ness that  a  holy  man  might  approach  a  solemn  festival 
of  his  church. 

And  the  impetus  of  his  mind  was  running  with 
big  momentum  in  this  direction,  when  there  fell 
upon  him,  almost  on  the  eve  of  starting,  a 
swift  series  of  disasters  that  shook  his  being  to 
its  last  foundations,  and  left  him  stunned  among  the 
ruins.  To  describe  these  is  unnecessary.  People 
said,  '  One  thing  after  another  like  that  !  What 
appalling  luck  !  Poor  wretch  ! '  then  wondered, 
with   the   curiosity   of   children,  how    in    the   world 


THE  SACRIFICE  97 

he  would  take  it.  Due  to  no  apparent  fault  of  his 
own,  these  disasters  were  so  sudden  that  life  seemed 
in  a  moment  shattered,  and  his  interest  in  existence 
almost  ceased.  People  shook  their  heads  and  thought 
of  the  emergency  exit.  But  Limasson  was  too  vital 
a  man  to  dream  of  annihilation.  Upon  him  it  had  a 
different  effect — he  turned  and  questioned  what  he 
called  his  gods.  They  did  not  answer  or  explain. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  doubted.  A  hair's 
breadth  beyond  lay  definite  denial. 

The  ruin  in  which  he  sat,  however,  was  not 
material  ;  no  man  of  his  age,  possessed  of  courage 
and  a  working  scheme  of  life,  would  permit  disaster 
of  a  material  order  to  .  overwhelm  him.  It  was 
collapse  of  a  mental,  spiritual  kind,  an  assault  upon 
the  roots  of  character  and  temperament.  Moral 
duties  laid  suddenly  upon  him  threatened  to  crush. 
His  personal  existence  was  assailed,  and  apparently 
must  end.  He  must  spend  the  remainder  of  his 
life  caring  for  others  who  were  nothing  to  him. 
No  outlet  showed,  no  way  of  escape,  so  diabolically 
complete  was  the  combination  of  events  that  rushed 
his  inner  trenches.  His  faith  was  shaken.  A  man 
can  but  endure  so  much,  and  remain  human.  For 
him  the  saturation  point  seemed  reached.  He  ex- 
perienced the  spiritual  equivalent  of  that  physical 
numbness  which  supervenes  when  pain  has  touched 
the  limit  of  endurance.  He  laughed,  grew  callous, 
then  mocked  his  silent  gods. 

It  is  said  that  upon  this  state  of  blank  negation 
there  follows  sometimes  a  condition  of  lucidity  which 
mirrors  with  crystal  clearness  the  forces  driving  behind 
life  at  a  given  moment,  a  kind  of  clairvoyance  that 
brings  explanation  and  therefore  peace.  Limasson 
looked  for  this  in  vain.     There  was  the  doubt  that 

H 


98  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

questioned,  there  was  the  sneer  that  mocked  the 
silence  into  which  his  questions  fell ;  but  there  was 
neither  answer  nor  explanation,  and  certainly  not 
peace.  There  was  no  relief.  In  this  tumult  of  revolt 
he  did  none  of  the  things  his  friends  suggested  or 
expected  ;  he  merely  followed  the  line  of  least  resist- 
ance. He  yielded  to  the  impetus  that  was  upon 
him  when  the  catastrophe  came.  To  their  indignant 
amazement  he  went  out  to  his  mountains. 

All  marvelled  that  at  such  a  time  he  could  adopt 
so  trivial  a  line  of  action,  neglecting  duties  that  seemed 
paramount;  they  disapproved.  Yet  in  reality  he  was 
taking  no  definite  action  at  all,  but  merely  drifting 
with  the  momentum  that  had  been  acquired  just 
before.  He  was  bewildered  with  so  much  pain,  con- 
fused with  suffering,  stunned  with  the  crash  that 
flung  him  helpless  amid  undeserved  calamity.  He 
turned  to  the  mountains  as  a  child  to  its  mother, 
instinctively.  Mountains  had  never  failed  to  bring 
him  consolation,  comfort,  peace.  Their  grandeur 
restored  proportion  whenever  disorder  threatened 
life.  No  calculation,  properly  speaking,  was  in  his 
move  at  all ;  but  a  blind  desire  for  a  violent  physical 
reaction  such  as  climbing  brings.  And  the  instinct 
was  more  wholesome  than  he  knew. 

In  the  high  upland  valley  among  lonely  peaks 
whither  Limasson  then  went,  he  found  in  some 
measure  the  proportion  he  had  lost.  He  studiously 
avoided  thinking  ;  he  lived  in  his  muscles  recklessly. 
The  region  with  its  little  Inn  was  familiar  to  him  ; 
peak  after  peak  he  attacked,  sometimes  with,  but 
more  often  without  a  guide,  until  his  reputation  as 
a  sane  climber,  a  laurelled  member  of  all  the  foreign 
Alpine  Clubs,  was  seriously  in  danger.  That  he 
overdid   it   physically  is   beyond  question,  but  that 


THE  SACRIFICE  99 

the  mountains  breathed  into  him  some  portion  of 
their  enormous  calm  and  deep  endurance  is  also  true. 
His  gods,  meanwhile,  he  neglected  utterly  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life.  If  he  thought  of  them  at  all,  it 
was  as  tinsel  figures  imagination  had  created,  figures 
upon  a  stage  that  merely  decorated  life  for  those 
whom  pretty  pictures  pleased.  Only — he  had  left  the 
theatre  and  their  make-believe  no  longer  hypnotised 
his  mind.  He  realised  their  impotence  and  dis- 
owned them.  This  attitude,  however,  was  sub- 
conscious ;  he  lent  to  it  no  substance,  either  of 
thought  or  speech.  He  ignored  rather  than  chal- 
lenged their  existence. 

And  it  was  somewhat  in  this  frame  of  mind — 
thinking  little,  feeling  even  less — that  he  came  out 
into  the  hotel  vestibule  after  dinner  one  evening, 
and  took  mechanically  the  bundle  of  letters  the 
porter  handed  to  him.  They  had  no  possible  interest 
for  him  ;  in  a  corner  where  the  big  steam -heater 
mitigated  the  chilliness  of  the  hall,  he  idly  sorted 
them.  The  score  or  so  of  other  guests,  chiefly  ex- 
pert climbing  men,  were  trailing  out  in  twos  and 
threes  from  the  dining-room  ;  but  he  felt  as  little 
interest  in  them  as  in  his  letters  :  no  conversation 
could  alter  facts,  no  written  phrases  change  his 
circumstances.  At  random,  then,  he  opened  a 
business  letter  with  a  typewritten  address — it  would 
probably  be  impersonal,  less  of  a  mockery,  there- 
fore, than  the  others  with  their  tiresome  sham 
condolences.  And,  in  a  sense,  it  was  impersonal  ; 
sympathy  from  a  solicitor's  office  is  mere  formula, 
a  few  extra  ticks  upon  the  universal  keyboard  of  a 
Remington.  But  as  he  read  it,  Limasson  made 
a  discovery  that  startled  him  into  acute  and  bitter 
sensation.     He  had  imagined  the  limit  of  bearable 


ioo         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

suffering  and  disaster  already  reached.     Now,  in  a  r 
few  dozen  words,  his  error  was  proved  convincingly. 
The  fresh  blow  was  dislocating. 

This  culminating  news  of  additional  catastrophe 
disclosed  within  him  entirely  new  reaches  of  pain, 
of  biting,  resentful  fury.  Limasson  experienced  a 
momentary  stopping  of  the  heart  as  he  took  it  in, 
a  dizziness,  a  violent  sensation  of  revolt  whose  im- 
potence induced  almost  physical  nausea.  He  felt 
like — death. 

'  Must  I  suffer  all  things  ? '  flashed  through  his 
arrested  intelligence  in  letters  of  fire. 

There  was  a  sullen  rage  in  him,  a  dazed  bewilder- 
ment, but  no  positive  suffering  as  yet.  His  emotion 
was  too  sickening  to  include  the  smaller  pains  of 
disappointment ;  it  was  primitive,  blind  anger  that 
he  knew.  He  read  the  letter  calmly,  even  to  the 
neat  paragraph  of  machine-made  sympathy  at  the 
last,  then  placed  it  in  his  inner  pocket.  No  outward 
sign  of  disturbance  was  upon  him  ;  his  breath  came 
slowly  ;  he  reached  over  to  the  table  for  a  match, 
holding  it  at  arm's  length  lest  the  sulphur  fumes 
should  sting  his  nostrils. 

And  in  that  moment  he  made  his  second  discovery. 
The  fact  that  further  suffering  was  still  possible  in- 
cluded also  the  fact  that  some  touch  of  resignation 
had  been  left  in  him,  and  therefore  some  vestige  of 
belief  as  well.  Now,  as  he  felt  the  crackling  sheet 
of  stiff  paper  in  his  pocket,  watched  the  sulphur  die, 
and  saw  the  wood  ignite,  this  remnant  faded  utterly 
away.  Like  the  blackened  end  of  the  match,  it 
shrivelled  and  dropped  off.  It  vanished.  Savagely, 
yet  with  an  external  calmness  that  enabled  him  to 
light  his  pipe  with  untrembling  hand,  he  addressed 
his  futile  deities.      And   once   more   in   fiery  letters 


THE  SACRIFICE  101 

there  flashed  across  the  darkness  of  his  passionate 
thought : 

'  Even  this  you  demand  of  me — this  cruel,  ultimate 
sacrifice  ? ' 

And  he  rejected  them,  bag  and  baggage  ;  for  they 
were  a  mockery  and  a  lie.  With  contempt  he  re- 
pudiated them  for  ever.  The  stage  of  doubt  had 
passed.  He  denied  his  gods.  Yet,  with  a  smile 
upon  his  lips  ;  for  what  were  they  after  all  but  the 
puppets  his  religious  fancy  had  imagined  ?  They 
never  had  existed.  Was  it,  then,  merely  the  pictur- 
esque, sensational  aspect  of  his  devotional  temperament 
that  had  created  them  ?  That  side  of  his  nature,  in 
any  case,  was  dead  now,  killed  by  a  single  devastating 
blow.     The  gods  went  with  it. 

Surveying  what  remained  of  his  life,  it  seemed  to 
him  like  a  city  that  an  earthquake  has  reduced  to 
ruins.  The  inhabitants  think  no  worse  thing  could 
happen.     Then  comes  the  fire. 

Two  lines  of  thought,  it  seems,  then  developed 
parallel  in  him  and  simultaneously,  for  while  under- 
neath he  stormed  against  this  culminating  blow,  his 
upper  mind  dealt  calmly  with  the  project  of  a  great 
expedition  he  would  make  at  dawn.  He  had  engaged 
no  guide.  As  an  experienced  mountaineer,  he  knew 
the  district  well  ;  his  name  was  tolerably  familiar, 
and  in  half  an  hour  he  could  have  settled  all  details, 
and  retired  to  bed  with  instructions  to  be  called  at 
two.  But,  instead,  he  sat  there  waiting,  unable 
to  stir,  a  human  volcano  that  any  moment  might 
break  forth  into  violence.  He  smoked  his  pipe  as 
quietly  as  though  nothing  had  happened,  while 
through  the  blazing  depths  of  him  ran  ever  this  one 
self-repeating  statement  :   '  Even  this  you  demand  of 


102  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

me,  this  cruel,  ultimate  sacrifice  !  .  .  .'  His  self- 
control,  dynamically  estimated,  just  then  must  have 
been  very  great  and,  thus  repressed,  the  store  of 
potential  energy  accumulated  enormously. 

With  thought  concentrated  largely  upon  this  final 
blow,  Limasson  had  not  noticed  the  people  who 
streamed  out  of  the  salle  a  manger  and  scattered 
themselves  in  groups  about  the  hall.  Some  indivi- 
dual, now  and  again,  approached  his  chair  with  the 
idea  of  conversation,  then,  seeing  his  absorption, 
turned  away.  Even  when  a  climber  whom  he  slightly 
knew  reached  across  him  with  a  word  of  apology  for 
the  matches,  Limasson  made  no  response,  for  he  did 
not  see  him.  He  noticed  nothing.  In  particular  he 
did  not  notice  two  men  who,  from  an  opposite  corner, 
had  for  some  time  been  observing  him.  He  now 
looked  up — by  chance  ? — and  was  vaguely  aware 
that  they  were  discussing  him.  He  met  their  eyes 
across  the  hall,  and  started. 

For  at  first  he  thought  he  knew  them.  Possibly 
he  had  seen  them  about  in  the  hotel — they  seemed 
familiar — yet  he  certainly  had  never  spoken  with 
them.  Aware  of  his  mistake,  he  turned  his  glance 
elsewhere,  though  still  vividly  conscious  of  their 
attention.  One  was  a  clergyman  or  a  priest ;  his 
face  wore  an  air  of  gravity  touched  by  sadness,  a 
sternness  about  the  lips  counteracted  by  a  kindling 
beauty  in  the  eyes  that  betrayed  enthusiasm  nobly 
regulated.  There  was  a  suggestion  of  stateliness  in 
the  man  that  made  the  impression  very  sharp.  His 
clothing  emphasised  it.  He  wore  a  dark  tweed  suit 
that  was  strict  in  its  simplicity.  There  was  austerity 
in  him  somewhere. 

His  companion,  perhaps  by  contrast,  seemed  in- 
considerable in  his  conventional  evening  dress.     A 


THE  SACRIFICE  103 

good  deal  younger  than  his  friend,  his  hair,  always  a 
tell-tale  detail,  was  a  trifle  long  ;  the  thin  fingers  that 
flourished  a  cigarette  wore  rings  ;  the  face,  though 
picturesque,  was  flippant,  and  his  entire  attitude  con- 
veyed a  certain  insignificance.  Gesture,  that  faultless 
language  which  challenges  counterfeit,  betrayed  un- 
balance somewhere.  The  impression  he  produced, 
however,  was  shadowy  compared  to  the  sharpness  of 
the  other.  'Theatrical'  was  the  word  in  Limasson's 
mind,  as  he  turned  his  glance  elsewhere.  But  as  he 
looked  away  he  fidgeted.  The  interior  darkness 
caused  by  the  dreadful  letter  rose  about  him.  It 
engulfed  him.     Dizziness  came  with  it.   .   .   . 

Far  away  the  blackness  was  fringed  with  light, 
and  through  this  light,  stepping  with  speed  and  care- 
lessness as  from  gigantic  distance,  the  two  men, 
suddenly  grown  large,  came  at  him.  Limasson,  in 
self-protection,  turned  to  meet  them.  Conversation 
he  did  not  desire.  Somehow  he  had  expected  this 
attack. 

Yet  the  instant  they  began  to  speak — it  was  the 
priest  who  opened  fire — it  was  all  so  natural  and  easy 
that  he  almost  welcomed  the  diversion.  A  phrase  by 
way  of  introduction — and  he  was  speaking  of  the 
summits.  Something  in  Limasson's  mind  turned 
over.  The  man  was  a  serious  climber,  one  of  his 
own  species.  The  sufferer  felt  a  certain  relief  as  he 
heard  the  invitation,  and  realised,  though  dully,  the 
compliment  involved. 

'  If  you  felt  inclined  to  join  us — if  you  would 
honour  us  with  your  company,'  the  man  was  saying 
quietly,  adding  something  then  about  *  your  great 
experience  '  and  '  invaluable  advice  and  judgment.' 

Limasson  looked  up,  trying  hard  to  concentrate 
and  understand. 


io4         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

'The  Tour  du  Neant  ? '  he  repeated,  mentioning 
the  peak  proposed.  Rarely  attempted,  never  con- 
quered, and  with  an  ominous  record  of  disaster, 
it  happened  to  be  the  very  summit  he  had  meant  to 
attack  himself  next  day. 

'  You  have  engaged  guides  ? '  He  knew  the 
question  foolish. 

*  No  guide  will  try  it,'  the  priest  answered,  smiling, 
while  his  companion  added  with  a  flourish,  '  but  we — 
we  need  no  guide — if  you  will  come.' 

'  You  are  unattached,  I  believe  ?  You  are  alone  ? ' 
the  priest  enquired,  moving  a  little  in  front  of  his 
friend,  as  though  to  keep  him  in  the  background. 

1  Yes,'  replied  Limasson.     *  I  am  quite  alone.' 

He  was  listening  attentively,  but  with  only  part 
of  his  mind.  He  realised  the  flattery  of  the  invita- 
tion. Yet  it  was  like  flattery  addressed  to  some  one 
else.  He  felt  himself  so  indifferent,  so — dead.  These 
men  wanted  his  skilful  body,  his  experienced  mind  ; 
and  it  was  his  body  and  mind  that  talked  with  them, 
and  finally  agreed  to  go.  Many  a  time  expeditions 
had  been  planned  in  just  this  way,  but  to-night  he 
felt  there  was  a  difference.  Mind  and  body  signed 
the  agreement,  but  his  soul,  listening  elsewhere  and 
looking  on,  was  silent.  With  his  rejected  gods  it 
had  left  him,  though  hovering  close  still.  It  did  not 
interfere ;  it  did  not  warn ;  it  even  approved ;  it  sang 
to  him  from  great  distance  that  this  expedition 
cloaked  another.  He  was  bewildered  by  the  clashing 
of  his  higher  and  his  lower  mind. 

'At  one  in  the  morning,  then,  if  that  will  suit 
you   .   .  .'  the  older  man  concluded. 

'  I'll  see  to  the  provisions,'  exclaimed  the  younger 
enthusiastically,  'and  I  shall  take  my  telephoto  for  the 
summit.     The  porters  can  come  as  far  as  the  Great 


THE  SACRIFICE  105 

Tower.  We're  over  six  thousand  feet  here  already, 
you  see,  so  .  .  .'  and  his  voice  died  away  in  the 
distance  as  his  companion  led  him  off. 

Limasson  saw  him  go  with  relief.  But  for  the 
other  man  he  would  have  declined  the  invitation. 
At  heart  he  was  indifferent  enough.  What  decided 
him  really  was  the  coincidence  that  the  Tour  du 
Neant  was  the  very  peak  he  had  intended  to  attack 
himself  alone,  and  the  curious  feeling  that  this  expedi- 
tion cloaked  another  somehow — almost  that  these 
men  had  a  hidden  motive.  But  he  dismissed  the 
idea — it  was  not  worth  thinking  about.  A  moment 
later  he  followed  them  to  bed.  So  careless  was 
he  of  the  affairs  of  the  world,  so  dead  to  mundane 
interests,  that  he  tore  up  his  other  letters  and  tossed 
them  into  a  corner  of  the  room — unread. 


II 

Once  in  his  chilly  bedroom  he  realised  that  his 
upper  mind  had  permitted  him  to  do  a  foolish  thing  ; 
he  had  drifted  like  a  schoolboy  into  an  unwise  situa- 
tion. He  had  pledged  himself  to  an  expedition  with 
two  strangers,  an  expedition  for  which  normally  he 
would  have  chosen  his  companions  with  the  utmost 
caution.  Moreover,  he  was  guide  ;  they  looked  to 
him  for  safety,  while  yet  it  was  they  who  had 
arranged  and  planned  it.  But  who  were  these  men 
with  whom  he  proposed  to  run  grave  bodily  risks  ? 
He  knew  them  as  little  as  they  knew  him.  Whence 
came,  he  wondered,  the  curious  idea  that  this  climb 
was  really  planned  by  another  who  was  no  one  of 
them  ? 

The  thought  slipped  idly  across  his  mind  ;  going 
out  by  one  door,  it  came  back,  however,  quickly  by 


io6         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

another.  He  did  not  think  about  it  more  than 
to  note  its  passage  through  the  disorder  that  passed 
with  him  just  then  for  thinking.  Indeed,  there  was 
nothing  in  the  whole  world  for  which  he  cared  a 
single  brass  farthing.  As  he  undressed  for  bed, 
he  said  to  himself :  *  I  shall  be  called  at  one  .  .  .  but 
why  am  I  going  with  these  two  on  this  wild 
plan  ?  .  .  .  And  who  made  the  plan  ? '  .  .  . 

It  seemed  to  have  settled  itself.  It  came  about 
so  naturally  and  easily,  so  quickly.  He  probed  no 
deeper.  He  didn't  care.  And  for  the  first  time  he 
omitted  the  little  ritual,  half  prayer,  half  adoration, 
it  had  always  been  his  custom  to  offer  to  his  deities 
upon  retiring  to  rest.  He  no  longer  recognised 
them. 

How  utterly  broken  his  life  was  !  How  blank 
and  terrible  and  lonely  !  He  felt  cold,  and  piled 
his  overcoats  upon  the  bed,  as  though  his  mental 
isolation  involved  a  physical  effect  as  well.  Switch- 
ing off  the  light  by  the  door,  he  was  in  the  act  of 
crossing  the  floor  in  the  darkness  when  a  sound 
beneath  the  window  caught  his  ear.  Outside  there 
were  voices  talking.  The  roar  of  falling  water 
made  them  indistinct,  yet  he  was  sure  they  were 
voices,  and  that  one  of  them  he  knew.  He  stopped 
still  to  listen.  He  heard  his  own  name  uttered 
— 'John  Limasson.'  They  ceased.  He  stood  a 
moment  shivering  on  the  boards,  then  crawled  into 
bed  beneath  the  heavy  clothing.  But  in  the  act  of 
settling  down,  they  began  again.  He  raised  himself 
again  hurriedly  to  listen.  What  little  wind  there 
was  passed  in  that  moment  down  the  valley,  carrying 
off  the  roar  of  falling  water  ;  and  into  the  moment's 
space  of  silence  dropped  fragments  of  definite 
sentences  : 


THE  SACRIFICE  107 

'  They  are  close,  you  say — close  down  upon  the 
world  ?  '     It  was  the  voice  of  the  priest  surely. 

'  For  days  they  have  been  passing,'  was  the 
answer — a  rough,  deep  tone  that  might  have  been  a 
peasant's,  and  a  kind  of  fear  in  it,  •  for  all  my  flocks 
are  scattered.' 

*  The  signs  are  sure  ?     You  know  them  ? ' 

'  Tumult,'  was  the  answer  in  much  lower  tones. 
'  There  has  been  tumult  in  the  mountains  .  .   .' 

There  was  a  break  then  as  though  the  voices  sank 
too  low  to  be  heard.  Two  broken  fragments  came 
next,  end  of  a  question — beginning  of  an  answer. 

* .   .  .  the  opportunity  of  a  lifetime  ? ' 

' .  .  .  if  he  goes  of  his  own  free  will,  success  is 
sure.     For  acceptance  is  .   .  .' 

And  the  wind,  returning,  bore  back  the  sound 
of  the  falling  water,  so  that  Limasson  heard  no 
more.  .  .  . 

An  indefinable  emotion  stirred  in  him  as  he 
turned  over  to  sleep.  He  stuffed  his  ears  lest  he 
should  hear  more.  He  was  aware  of  a  sinking 
of  the  heart  that  was  inexplicable.  What  in  the 
world  were  they  talking  about,  these  two  ?  What 
was  the  meaning  of  these  disjointed  phrases? 
There  lay  behind  them  a  grave  significance  almost 
solemn.  That  '  tumult  in  the  mountains  '  was  some- 
how ominous,  its  suggestion  terrible  and  mighty. 
He  felt  disturbed,  uncomfortable,  the  first  emotion 
that  had  stirred  in  him  for  days.  The  numbness 
melted  before  its  faint  awakening.  Conscience  was 
in  it — he  felt  vague  prickings — but  it  was  deeper 
far  than  conscience.  Somewhere  out  of  sight,  in  a 
region  life  had  as  yet  not  plumbed,  the  words  sank 
down  and  vibrated  like  pedal  notes.  They  rumbled 
away  into  the  night  of  undecipherable  things.     And, 


108  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

though  explanation  failed  him,  he  felt  they  had 
reference  somehow  to  the  morrow's  expedition  : 
how,  what,  wherefore,  he  knew  not  ;  his  name  had 
been  spoken  — -  then  these  curious  sentences  ;  that 
was  all.  Yet  to-morrow's  expedition,  what  was  it 
but  an  expedition  of  impersonal  kind,  not  even 
planned  by  himself?  Merely  his  own  plan  taken 
and  altered  by  others — made  over  ?  His  personal 
business,  his  personal  life,  were  not  really  in  it  at  all. 

The  thought  startled  him  a  moment.  He  had 
no  personal  life  .   .   .   ! 

Struggling  with  sleep,  his  brain  played  the  end- 
less game  of  disentanglement  without  winning  a 
single  point,  while  the  under-mind  in  him  looked  on 
and  smiled — because  it  knew.  Then,  suddenly,  a 
great  peace  fell  over  him.  Exhaustion  brought  it 
perhaps.  He  fell  asleep ;  and  next  moment,  it 
seemed,  he  was  aware  of  a  thundering  at  the  door 
and  an  unwelcome  growling  voice,  '  'i  ist  bald  ein 
Uhr,  Herr  !     Aufstehen  !  * 

Rising  at  such  an  hour,  unless  the  heart  be  in 
it,  is  a  sordid  and  depressing  business  ;  Limasson 
dressed  without  enthusiasm,  conscious  that  thought 
and  feeling  were  exactly  where  he  had  left  them  on 
going  to  sleep.  The  same  confusion  and  bewilder- 
ment were  in  him  ;  also  the  same  deep  solemn 
emotion  stirred  by  the  whispering  voices.  Only 
long  habit  enabled  him  to  attend  to  detail,  and 
ensured  that  nothing  was  forgotten.  He  felt  heavy 
and  oppressed,  a  kind  of  anxiety  about  him  ;  the 
routine  of  preparation  he  followed  gravely,  utterly 
untouched  by  the  customary  joy  ;  it  was  mechanical. 
Yet  through  it  ran  the  old  familiar  sense  of  ritual, 
due  to  the  practice  of  so  many  years,  that  cleansing 
of  mind  and  body  for  a  big  Ascent — like  initiatory 


THE  SACRIFICE  109 

rites  that  once  had  been  as  important  to  him  as  those 
of  some  priest  who  approached  the  worship  of  his 
deity  in  the  temples  of  ancient  time.  He  performed 
the  ceremony  with  the  same  care  as  though  no  ghost 
of  vanished  faith  still  watched  him,  beckoning  from 
the  air  as  formerly.  .  .  .  His  knapsack  carefully 
packed,  he  took  his  ice-axe  from  beside  the  bed, 
turned  out  the  light,  and  went  down  the  creaking 
wooden  stairs  in  stockinged  feet,  lest  his  heavy  boots 
should  waken  the  other  sleepers.  And  in  his  head 
still  rang  the  phrase  he  had  fallen  asleep  on — as 
though  just  uttered  : 

'  The  signs  are  sure ;  for  days  they  have  been 
passing — close  down  upon  the  world.  The  flocks 
are  scattered.  There  has  been  tumult — tumult  in 
the  mountains.'  The  other  fragments  he  had  for- 
gotten. But  who  were  *  they  '  ?  And  why  did  the 
word  bring  a  chill  of  awe  into  his  blood  ? 

And  as  the  words  rolled  through  him  Limasson 
felt  tumult  in  his  thoughts  and  feelings  too.  There 
had  been  tumult  in  his  life,  and  all  his  joys  were 
scattered — joys  that  hitherto  had  fed  his  days.  The 
signs  were  sure.  Something  was  close  down  upon 
his  little  world — passing — sweeping.  He  felt  a 
touch  of  terror. 

Outside  in  the  fresh  darkness  of  very  early  morn- 
ing the  strangers  stood  waiting  for  him.  Rather, 
they  seemed  to  arrive  in  the  same  instant  as  himself, 
equally  punctual.  The  clock  in  the  church  tower 
sounded  one.  They  exchanged  low  greetings,  re- 
marked that  the  weather  promised  to  hold  good, 
and  started  off  in  single  file  over  soaking  meadows 
towards  the  first  belt  of  forest.  The  porter — mere 
peasant,  unfamiliar  of  face  and  not  connected  with 
the   hotel — led   the   way  with  a   hurricane   lantern. 


no         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

The  air  was  marvellously  sweet  and  fragrant.  In 
the  sky  overhead  the  stars  shone  in  their  thousands. 
Only  the  noise  of  falling  water  from  the  heights,  and 
the  regular  thud  of  their  heavy  boots  broke  the 
stillness.  And,  black  against  the  sky,  towered  the 
enormous  pyramid  of  the  Tour  du  Neant  they 
meant  to  conquer. 

Perhaps  the  most  delightful  portion  of  a  big 
ascent  is  the  beginning  in  the  scented  darkness  while 
the  thrill  of  possible  conquest  lies  still  far  off.  The 
hours  stretch  themselves  queerly  ;  last  night's  sun- 
set might  be  days  ago  ;  sunrise  and  the  brilliance 
coming  seem  in  another  week,  part  of  dim  futurity 
like  children's  holidays.  It  is  difficult  to  realise  that 
this  biting  cold  before  the  dawn,  and  the  blazing 
heat  to  come,  both  belong  to  the  same  to-day. 

There  were  no  sounds  as  they  toiled  slowly  up  the 
zigzag  path  through  the  first  fifteen  hundred  feet  of 
pine-woods  ;  no  one  spoke  ;  the  clink  of  nails  and 
ice-axe  points  against  the  stones  was  all  they  heard. 
For  the  roar  of  water  was  felt  rather  than  heard  ; 
it  beat  against  the  ears  and  the  skin  of  the  whole 
body  at  once.  The  deeper  notes  were  below  them 
now  in  the  sleeping  valley  ;  the  shriller  ones  sounded 
far  above,  where  streams  just  born  out  of  ponderous 
snow-beds  tinkled  sharply.   .   .  . 

The  change  came  delicately.  The  stars  turned  a 
shade  less  brilliant,  a  softness  in  them  as  of  human 
eyes  that  say  farewell.  Between  the  highest  branches 
the  sky  grew  visible.  A  sighing  air  smoothed  all 
their  crests  one  way  ;  moss,  earth,  and  open  spaces 
brought  keen  perfumes  ;  and  the  little  human  pro- 
cession, leaving  the  forest,  stepped  out  into  the  vast- 
ness  of  the  world  above  the  tree-line.  They  paused 
while  the  porter  stooped  to  put  his  lantern  out.      In 


THE  SACRIFICE  in 

the  eastern  sky  was  colour.  The  peaks  and  crags 
rushed  closer. 

Was  it  the  Dawn  ?  Limasson  turned  his  eyes  from 
the  height  of  sky  where  the  summits  pierced  a  path 
for  the  coming  day,  to  the  faces  of  his  companions, 
pale  and  wan  in  the  early  twilight.  How  small,  how 
insignificant  they  seemed  amid  this  hungry  emptiness 
of  desolation.  The  stupendous  cliffs  fled  past  them, 
led  by  headstrong  peaks  crowned  with  eternal  snows. 
Thin  lines  of  cloud,  trailing  half  way  up  precipice 
and  ridge,  seemed  like  the  swish  of  movement — as 
though  he  caught  the  earth  turning  as  she  raced 
through  space.  The  four  of  them,  timid  riders  on 
the  gigantic  saddle,  clung  for  their  lives  against  her 
titan  ribs,  while  currents  of  some  majestic  life  swept 
up  at  them  from  every  side.  He  drew  deep  draughts 
of  the  rarefied  air  into  his  lungs.  It  was  very  cold. 
Avoiding  the  pallid,  insignificant  faces  of  his  com- 
panions, he  pretended  interest  in  the  porter's  opera- 
tions ;  he  stared  fixedly  on  the  ground.  It  seemed 
twenty  minutes  before  the  flame  was  extinguished, 
and  the  lantern  fastened  to  the  pack  behind.  This 
Dawn  was  unlike  any  he  had  seen  before. 

For,  in  reality,  all  the  while,  Limasson  was  trying 
to  bring  order  out  of  the  extraordinary  thoughts  and 
feelings  that  had  possessed  him  during  the  slow  forest 
ascent,  and  the  task  was  not  crowned  with  much 
success.  The  Plan,  made  by  others,  had  taken  charge 
of  him,  he  felt ;  and  he  had  thrown  the  reins  of 
personal  will  and  interest  loosely  upon  its  steady  gait. 
He  had  abandoned  himself  carelessly  to  what  might 
come.  Knowing  that  he  was  leader  of  the  expedition, 
he  yet  had  suffered  the  porter  to  go  first,  taking  his  own 
place  as  it  was  appointed  to  him,  behind  the  younger 
man,  but  before  the  priest.     In  this  order,  they  had 


U2         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

plodded,  as  only  experienced  climbers  plod,  for  hours 
without  a  rest,  until  half  way  up  a  change  had  taken 
place.  He  had  wished  it,  and  instantly  it  was  effected. 
The  priest  moved  past  him,  while  his  companion 
dropped  to  the  rear  —  the  companion  who  forever 
stumbled  in  his  speed,  whereas  the  older  man  climbed 
surely,  confidently.  And  thereafter  Limasson  walked 
more  easily — as  though  the  relative  positions  of  the 
three  were  of  importance  somehow.  The  steep  ascent 
of  smothering  darkness  through  the  woods  became 
less  arduous.  He  was  glad  to  have  the  younger  man 
behind  him. 

For  the  impression  had  strengthened  as  they 
climbed  in  silence  that  this  ascent  pertained  to 
some  significant  Ceremony,  and  the  idea  had  grown 
insistently,  almost  stealthily,  upon  him.  The  move- 
ments of  himself  and  his  companions,  especially  the 
positions  each  occupied  relatively  to  the  other, 
established  some  kind  of  intimacy  that  resembled 
speech,  suggesting  even  question  and  answer.  And 
the  entire  performance,  while  occupying  hours  by 
his  watch,  it  seemed  to  him  more  than  once,  had 
been  in  reality  briefer  than  the  flash  of  a  passing 
thought,  so  that  he  saw  it  within  himself — pictorially. 
He  thought  of  a  picture  worked  in  colours  upon  a 
strip  of  elastic.  Some  one  pulled  the  strip,  and  the 
picture  stretched.  Or  some  one  released  it  again,  and 
the  picture  flew  back,  reduced  to  a  mere  stationary 
speck.     All  happened  in  a  single  speck  of  time. 

And  the  little  change  of  position,  apparently  so 
trivial,  gave  point  to  this  singular  notion  working 
in  his  under-mind — that  this  ascent  was  a  ritual  and  a 
ceremony  as  in  older  days,  its  significance  approach- 
ing revelation,  however,  for  the  first  time — now. 
Without  language,  this  stole  over  him ;  no  words  could 


THE  SACRIFICE  113 

quite  describe  it.  For  it  came  to  him  that  these  three 
formed  a  unit,  himself  being  in  some  fashion  yet  the 
acknowledged  principal,  the  leader.  The  labouring 
porter  had  no  place  in  it,  for  this  first  toiling  through 
the  darkness  was  a  preparation,  and  when  the  actual 
climb  began,  he  would  disappear,  while  Limasson 
himself  went  first.  This  idea  that  they  took  part 
together  in  a  Ceremony  established  itself  firmly  in 
him,  with  the  added  wonder  that,  though  so  often 
done,  he  performed  it  now  for  the  first  time  with 
full  comprehension,  knowledge,  truth.  Empty  of 
personal  desire,  indifferent  to  an  ascent  that  formerly 
would  have  thrilled  his  heart  with  ambition  and 
delight,  he  understood  that  climbing  had  ever  been 
a  ritual  for  his  soul  and  of  his  soul,  and  that  power 
must  result  from  its  sincere  accomplishment.  It  was 
a  symbolical  ascent. 

In  words  this  did  not  come  to  him.  He  felt  it, 
never  criticising.  That  is,  he  neither  rejected  nor 
accepted.  It  stole  most  sweetly,  grandly,  over  him. 
It  floated  into  him  while  he  climbed,  yet  so  con- 
vincingly that  he  had  felt  his  relative  position  must 
be  changed.  The  younger  man  held  too  prominent 
a  post,  or  at  least  a  wrong  one — in  advance.  Then, 
after  the  change,  effected  mysteriously  as  though  all 
recognised  it,  this  line  of  certainty  increased,  and 
there  came  upon  him  the  big,  strange  knowledge 
that  all  of  life  is  a  Ceremony  on  a  giant  scale,  and 
that  by  performing  the  movements  accurately,  with 
sincere  fidelity,  there  may  come — knowledge.  There 
was  gravity  in  him  from  that  moment. 

This  ran  in  his  mind  with  certainty.  Though  his 
thought  assumed  no  form  of  little  phrases,  his  brain 
yet  furnished  detailed  statements  that  clinched  the 
marvellous  thing  with  simile  and  incident  which  daily 

1 


ii4         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

life  might  apprehend  :  That  knowledge  arises  from 
action  ;  that  to  do  the  thing  invites  the  teaching  and 
explains  it.  Action,  moreover,  is  symbolical ;  a  group 
of  men,  a  family,  an  entire  nation,  engaged  in  those 
daily  movements  which  are  the  working  out  of  their 
destiny,  perform  a  Ceremony  which  is  in  direct  rela- 
tion somewhere  to  the  pattern  of  greater  happen- 
ings which  are  the  teachings  of  the  Gods.  Let  the 
body  imitate,  reproduce — in  a  bedroom,  in  a  wood 
—  anywhere  —  the  movements  of  the  stars,  and 
the  meaning  of  those  stars  shall  sink  down  into 
the  heart.  The  movements  constitute  a  script,  a 
language.  To  mimic  the  gestures  of  a  stranger  is 
to  understand  his  mood,  his  point  of  view — to 
establish  a  grave  and  solemn  intimacy.  Temples 
are  everywhere,  for  the  entire  earth  is  a  temple, 
and  the  body,  House  of  Royalty,  is  the  biggest 
temple  of  them  all.  To  ascertain  the  pattern  its 
movements  trace  in  daily  life,  could  be  to  deter- 
mine the  relation  of  that  particular  ceremony  to  the 
Cosmos,  and  so  learn  power.  The  entire  system 
of  Pythagoras,  he  realised,  could  be  taught  without 
a  single  word — by  movements  ;  and  in  everyday  life 
even  the  commonest  act  and  vulgarest  movement 
are  part  of  some  big  Ceremony — a  message  from 
the  Gods.  Ceremony,  in  a  word,  is  three-dimensional 
language,  and  action,  therefore,  is  the  language  of  the 
Gods.  The  Gods  he  had  denied  were  speaking  to 
him  .  .  .  passing  with  tumult  close  across  his  broken 
life.  .  .  .  Their  passage  it  was,  indeed,  that  had  caused 
the  breaking  ! 

In  this  cryptic,  condensed  fashion  the  great  fact 
came  over  him — that  he  and  these  other  two,  here 
and  now,  took  part  in  some  great  Ceremony  of  whose 
ultimate   object   as  yet   he  was   in    ignorance.     The 


THE  SACRIFICE  115 

impact  with  which  it  dropped  upon  his  mind  was 
tremendous.  He  realised  it  most  fully  when  he 
stepped  from  the  darkness  of  the  forest  and  entered 
the  expanse  of  glimmering,  early  light  ;  up  till  this 
moment  his  mind  was  being  prepared  only,  whereas 
now  he  knew.  The  innate  desire  to  worship  which 
all  along  had  been  his,  the  momentum  his  religious 
temperament  had  acquired  during  forty  years,  the 
yearning  to  have  proof,  in  a  word,  that  the  Gods  he 
once  acknowledged  were  really  true,  swept  back 
upon  him  with  that  violent  reaction  which  denial 
had  aroused. 

He  wavered  where  he  stood.  .  .  . 

Looking  about  him,  then,  while  the  others  re- 
arranged burdens  the  returning  porter  now  discarded, 
he  perceived  the  astonishing  beauty  of  the  time  and 
place,  feeling  it  soak  into  him  as  by  the  very  pores  of 
his  skin.  From  all  sides  this  beauty  rushed  upon 
him.  Some  radiant,  winged  sense  of  wonder  sped  past 
him  through  the  silent  air.  A  thrill  of  ecstasy  ran 
down  every  nerve.  The  hair  of  his  head  stood  up. 
It  was  far  from  unfamiliar  to  him,  this  sight  of  the 
upper  mountain  world  awakening  from  its  sleep  of 
the  summer  night,  but  never  before  had  he  stood 
shuddering  thus  at  its  exquisite  cold  glory,  nor  felt 
its  significance  as  now,  so  mysteriously  within  himself. 
Some  transcendent  power  that  held  sublimity  was 
passing  across  this  huge  desolate  plateau,  far  more 
majestic  than  the  mere  sunrise  among  mountains  he 
had  so  often  witnessed.  There  was  Movement.  He 
understood  why  he  had  seen  his  companions  insig- 
nificant. Again  he  shivered  and  looked  about  him, 
touched  by  a  solemnity  that  held  deep  awe. 

Personal  life,  indeed,  was  wrecked,  destroyed,  but 
something   greater  was    on    the  way.      His    fragile 


n6         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

alliance  with  a  spiritual  world  was  strengthened.     He 
realised  his  own  past  insolence.     He  became  afraid. 

Ill 

The  treeless  plateau,  littered  with  enormous 
boulders,  stretched  for  miles  to  right  and  left,  grey 
in  the  dusk  of  very  early  morning.  Behind  him 
dropped  thick  guardian  pine-woods  into  the  sleeping 
valley  that  still  detained  the  darkness  of  the  night. 
Here  and  there  lay  patches  of  deep  snow,  gleaming 
faintly  through  thin  rising  mist  ;  singing  streams  of 
icy  water  spread  everywhere  among  the  stones,  soak- 
ing the  coarse  rough  grass  that  was  the  only  sign  of 
vegetation.  No  life  was  visible  ;  nothing  stirred  ; 
nor  anywhere  was  movement,  but  of  the  quiet  trail- 
ing mist  and  of  his  own  breath  that  drifted  past  his 
face  like  smoke.  Yet  through  the  splendid  stillness 
there  was  movement  ;  that  sense  of  absolute  move- 
ment which  results  in  stillness — it  was  owing  to  the 
stillness  that  he  became  aware  of  it — so  vast,  indeed, 
that  only  immobility  could  express  it.  Thus,  on  the 
calmest  day  in  summer,  may  the  headlong  rushing 
of  the  earth  through  space  seem  more  real  than 
when  the  tempest  shakes  the  trees  and  water  on  its 
surface;  or  great  machinery  turn  with  such  verti- 
ginous velocity  that  it  appears  steady  to  the  deceived 
function  of  the  eye.  For  it  was  not  through  the 
eye  that  this  solemn  Movement  made  itself  known, 
but  rather  through  a  massive  sensation  that  owned 
his  entire  body  as  its  organ.  Within  the  league- 
long  amphitheatre  of  enormous  peaks  and  precipices 
that  enclosed  the  plateau,  piling  themselves  upon  the 
horizon,  Limasson  felt  the  outline  of  a  Ceremony 
extended.     The  pulses  of  its  grandeur  poured  into 


THE  SACRIFICE  117 

him  where  he  stood.  Its  vast  design  was  knowable 
because  they  themselves  had  traced — were  even  then 
tracing — its  earthly  counterpart  in  little.  And  the 
awe  in  him  increased. 

'  This  light  is  false.  We  have  an  hour  yet  before 
the  true  dawn,'  he  heard  the  younger  man  say 
lightly.  '  The  summits  still  are  ghostly.  Let  us 
enjoy  the  sensation,  and  see  what  we  can  make 
of  it.' 

And  Limasson,  looking  up  startled  from  his 
reverie,  saw  that  the  far-away  heights  and  towers 
indeed  were  heavy  with  shadow,  faint  still  with  the 
light  of  stars.  It  seemed  to  him  they  bowed  their 
awful  heads  and  that  their  stupendous  shoulders 
lowered.  They  drew  together,  shutting  out  the 
world. 

1  True,'  said  his  companion,  '  and  the  upper 
snows  still  wear  the  spectral  shine  of  night.  But  let 
us  now  move  faster,  for  we  travel  very  light.  The 
sensations  you  propose  will  but  delay  and  weaken  us.' 

He  handed  a  share  of  the  burdens  to  his  com- 
panion and  to  Limasson.  Slowly  they  all  moved 
forward,  and  the  mountains  shut  them  in. 

And  two  things  Limasson  noted  then,  as  he 
shouldered  his  heavier  pack  and  led  the  way  :  first, 
that  he  suddenly  knew  their  destination  though  its 
purpose  still  lay  hidden  ;  and,  secondly,  that  the 
porter's  leaving  before  the  ascent  proper  began 
signified  finally  that  ordinary  climbing  was  not 
their  real  objective.  Also — the  dawn  was  a  lifting 
of  inner  veils  from  off*  his  mind,  rather  than  a 
brightening  of  the  visible  earth  due  to  the  nearing 
sun.  Thick  darkness,  indeed,  draped  this  enormous, 
lonely  amphitheatre  where  they  moved. 

*  You   lead   us   well,'   said   the   priest   a  few  feet 


n8  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

behind    him,    as    he    picked    his    way    unfalteringly 
among  the  boulders  and  the  streams. 

'  Strange  that  I  do  so,'  replied  Limasson  in  a  low 
tone,  c  for  the  way  is  new  to  me,  and  the  darkness 
grows  instead  of  lessening.'  The  language  seemed 
hardly  of  his  choosing.  He  spoke  and  walked  as  in 
a  dream. 

Far  in  the  rear  the  voice  of  the  younger  man 
called  plaintively  after  them  : 

'  You  go  so  fast,  I  can't  keep  up  with  you,'  and 
again  he  stumbled  and  dropped  his  ice-axe  among 
the  rocks.  He  seemed  for  ever  stooping  to  drink 
the  icy  water,  or  clambering  off  the  trail  to  test  the 
patches  of  snow  as  to  quality  and  depth.  '  You're 
missing  all  the  excitement,'  he  cried  repeatedly. 
*  There  are  a  hundred  pleasures  and  sensations  by 
the  way.' 

They  paused  a  moment  for  him  to  overtake  them  ; 
he  came  up  panting  and  exhausted,  making  remarks 
about  the  fading  stars,  the  wind  upon  the  heights, 
new  routes  he  longed  to  try  up  dangerous  couloirs, 
about  everything,  it  seemed,  except  the  work  in 
hand.  There  was  eagerness  in  him,  the  kind  of 
excitement  that  saps  energy  and  wastes  the  nervous 
force,  threatening  a  probable  collapse  before  the 
arduous  object  is  attained. 

'  Keep  to  the  thing  in  hand,'  replied  the  priest 
sternly.  '  We  are  not  really  going  fast  ;  it  is  you 
who  are  scattering  yourself  to  no  purpose.  It  wears 
us  all.  We  must  husband  our  resources,'  and  he 
pointed  significantly  to  the  pyramid  of  the  Tour  du 
Neant  that  gleamed  above  them  at  an  incredible 
altitude. 

'  We  are  here  to  amuse  ourselves ;  life  is  a 
pleasure,  a  sensation,  or  it  is  nothing,'  grumbled  his 


THE  SACRIFICE  119 

companion  ;  but  there  was  a  gravity  in  the  tone  of 
the  older  man  that  discouraged  argument  and  made 
resistance  difficult.  The  other  arranged  his  pack 
for  the  tenth  time,  twisting  his  axe  through  an 
ingenious  scheme  of  straps  and  string,  and  fell 
silently  into  line  behind  his  leaders.  Limasson 
moved  on  again  .  .  .  and  the  darkness  at  length 
began  to  lift.  Far  overhead,  at  first,  the  snowy 
summits  shone  with  a  hue  less  spectral  ;  a  delicate 
pink  spread  softly  from  the  east  ;  there  was  a 
freshening  of  the  chilly  wind  ;  then  suddenly  the 
highest  peak  that  topped  the  others  by  a  thousand 
feet  of  soaring  rock,  stepped  sharply  into  sight,  half 
golden  and  half  rose.  At  the  same  instant,  the  vast 
Movement  of  the  entire  scene  slowed  down  ;  there 
came  one  or  two  terrific  gusts  of  wind  in  quick 
succession  ;  a  roar  like  an  avalanche  of  falling  stones 
boomed  distantly — and  Limasson  stopped  dead  and 
held  his  breath. 

For  something  blocked  the  way  before  him, 
something  he  knew  he  could  not  pass.  Gigantic 
and  unformed,  it  seemed  part  of  the  architecture  of 
the  desolate  waste  about  him,  while  yet  it  bulked 
there,  enormous  in  the  trembling  dawn,  as  belonging 
neither  to  plain  nor  mountain.  Suddenly  it  was 
there,  where  a  moment  before  had  been  mere 
emptiness  of  air.  Its  massive  outline  shifted  into 
visibility  as  though  it  had  risen  from  the  ground. 
He  stood  stock  still.  A  cold  that  was  not  of  this 
world  turned  him  rigid  in  his  tracks.  A  few  yards 
behind  him  the  priest  had  halted  too.  Farther  in 
the  rear  they  heard  the  stumbling  tread  of  the 
younger  man,  and  the  faint  calling  of  his  voice — a 
feeble  broken  sound  as  of  a  man  whom  sudden  fear 
distressed  to  helplessness. 


120         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

*  We're  off  the  track,  and  I've  lost  my  way,'  the 
words  came  on  the  still  air.  '  My  axe  is  gone  .  .  . 
let  us  put  on  the  rope  !  .  .  .  Hark  !  Do  you  hear 
that  roar  ? '  And  then  a  sound  as  though  he  came 
slowly  groping  on  his  hands  and  knees. 

'  You  have  exhausted  yourself  too  soon,'  the  priest 
answered  sternly.  '  Stay  where  you  are  and  rest,  for 
we  go  no  farther.     This  is  the  place  we  sought.' 

There  was  in  his  tone  a  kind  of  ultimate  solemnity 
that  for  a  moment  turned  Limasson's  attention  from 
the  great  obstacle  that  blocked  his  farther  way. 
The  darkness  lifted  veil  by  veil,  not  gradually,  but 
by  a  series  of  leaps  as  when  some  one  inexpertly 
turns  a  wick.  He  perceived  then  that  not  a  single 
Grandeur  loomed  in  front,  but  that  others  of  similar 
kind,  some  huger  than  the  first,  stood  all  about  him, 
forming  an  enclosing  circle  that  hemmed  him  in. 

Then,  with  a  start,  he  recovered  himself.  Equi- 
librium and  common  sense  returned.  The  trick  that 
sight  had  played  upon  him,  assisted  by  the  rarefied 
atmosphere  of  the  heights  and  by  the  witchery  of 
dawn,  was  no  uncommon  one,  after  all.  The  long 
straining  of  the  eyes  to  pick  the  way  in  an  uncertain 
light  so  easily  deceives  perspective.  Delusion  ever 
follows  abrupt  change  of  focus.  These  shadowy 
encircling  forms  were  but  the  rampart  of  still  distant 
precipices  whose  giant  walls  framed  the  tremendous 
amphitheatre  to  the  sky. 

Their  closeness  was  a  mere  gesture  of  the  dusk 
and  distance. 

The  shock  of  the  discovery  produced  an  instant's 
unsteadiness  in  him  that  brought  bewilderment.  He 
straightened  up,  raised  his  head,  and  looked  about 
him.  The  cliffs,  it  seemed  to  him,  shifted  back 
instantly  to  their  accustomed  places  ;  as  though  after 


THE  SACRIFICE  121 

all  they  had  been  close  ;  there  was  a  reeling  among 
the  topmost  crags ;  they  balanced  fearfully,  then 
stood  still  against  a  sky  already  faintly  crimson. 
The  roar  he  heard,  that  might  well  have  seemed  the 
tumult  of  their  hurrying  speed,  was  in  reality  but 
the  wind  of  dawn  that  rushed  against  their  ribs, 
beating  the  echoes  out  with  angry  wings.  And  the 
lines  of  trailing  mist,  streaking  the  air  like  proofs  of 
rapid  motion,  merely  coiled  and  floated  in  the  empty 
spaces. 

He  turned  to  the  priest,  who  had  moved  up 
beside  him. 

'  How  strange,'  he  said,  '  is  this  beginning  of  new 
light.  My  sight  went  all  astray  for  a  passing 
moment.  I  thought  the  mountains  stood  right 
across  my  path.  And  when  I  looked  up  just  now  it 
seemed  they  all  ran  back.'  His  voice  was  small  and 
lost  in  the  great  listening  air. 

The  man  looked  fixedly  at  him.  He  had  re- 
moved his  slouch  hat,  hot  with  the  long  ascent,  and 
as  he  answered,  a  long  thin  shadow  flitted  across  his 
features.  A  breadth  of  darkness  dropped  about 
them.  It  was  as  though  a  mask  were  forming. 
The  face  that  now  was  covered  had  been — naked. 
He  was  so  long  in  answering  that  Limasson  heard 
his  mind  sharpening  the  sentence  like  a  pencil. 

He  spoke  very  slowly.  '  They  move  perhaps 
even  as  Their  powers  move,  and  Their  minutes  are 
our  years.  Their  passage  ever  is  in  tumult.  There 
is  disorder  then  among  the  affairs  of  men  ;  there  is 
confusion  in  their  minds.  There  may  be  ruin  and 
disaster,  but  out  of  the  wreckage  shall  issue  strong, 
fresh  growth.     For  like  a  sea,  They  pass.' 

There  was  in  his  mien  a  grandeur  that  seemed 
borrowed  marvellously    from  the  mountains.       His 


122  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

voice  was  grave  and  deep  ;  he  made  no  sign  or 
gesture  ;  and  in  his  manner  was  a  curious  steadiness 
that  breathed  through  the  language  a  kind  of  sacred 
prophecy. 

Long,  thundering  gusts  of  wind  passed  distantly 
across  the  precipices  as  he  spoke.  The  same  moment, 
expecting  apparently  no  rejoinder  to  his  strange 
utterance,  he  stooped  and  began  to  unpack  his  knap- 
sack. The  change  from  the  sacerdotal  language  to 
this  commonplace  and  practical  detail  was  singularly 
bewildering. 

'  It  is  the  time  to  rest,'  he  added,  '  and  the  time 
to  eat.  Let  us  prepare.'  And  he  drew  out  several 
small  packets  and  laid  them  in  a  row  upon  the 
ground.  Awe  deepened  over  Limasson  as  he 
watched,  and  with  it  a  great  wonder  too.  For  the 
words  seemed  ominous,  as  though  this  man,  upon 
the  floor  of  some  vast  Temple,  said  :  '  Let  us  prepare 
a  sacrifice  .  .  .  !  '  There  flashed  into  him,  out  of 
depths  that  had  hitherto  concealed  it,  a  lightning 
clue  that  hinted  at  explanation  of  the  entire  strange 
proceeding — of  the  abrupt  meeting  with  the  strangers, 
the  impulsive  acceptance  of  their  project  for  the 
great  ascent,  their  grave  behaviour  as  though  it  were 
a  Ceremonial  of  immense  design,  his  change  of 
position,  the  bewildering  tricks  of  sight,  and  the 
solemn  language,  finally,  of  the  older  man  that 
corroborated  what  he  himself  had  deemed  at  first 
illusion.  In  a  flying  second  of  time  this  all  swept 
through  him — and  with  it  the  sharp  desire  to  turn 
aside,  retreat,  to  run  away. 

Noting  the  movement,  or  perhaps  divining  the 
emotion  prompting  it,  the  priest  looked  up  quickly. 
In  his  tone  was  a  coldness  that  seemed  as  though 
this  scene  of  wintry  desolation  uttered  words  : 


THE  SACRIFICE  123 

*  You  have  come  too  far  to  think  of  turning  back. 
It  is  not  possible.  You  stand  now  at  the  gates  of 
birth — and  death.  All  that  might  hinder,  you 
have  so  bravely  cast  aside.  Be  brave  now  to  the 
end.' 

And,  as  Limasson  heard  the  words,  there  dropped 
suddenly  into  him  a  new  and  awful  insight  into 
humanity,  a  power  that  unerringly  discovered  the 
spiritual  necessities  of  others,  and  therefore  of  him- 
self. With  a  shock  he  realised  that  the  younger 
man  who  had  accompanied  them  with  increasing 
difficulty  as  they  climbed  higher  and  higher — was  but 
a  shadow  of  reality.  Like  the  porter,  he  was  but  an 
encumbrance  who  impeded  progress.  And  he  turned 
his  eyes  to  search  the  desolate  landscape. 

'  You  will  not  find  him,'  said  his  companion,  '  for 
he  is  gone.  Never,  unless  you  weakly  call,  shall  you 
see  him  again,  nor  desire  to  hear  his  voice.'  And 
Limasson  realised  that  in  his  heart  he  had  all  the 
while  disapproved  of  the  man,  disliked  him  for  his 
theatrical  fondness  of  sensation  and  effect,  more,  that 
he  had  even  hated  and  despised  him.  Starvation 
might  crawl  upon  him  where  he  had  fallen  and  eat  his 
life  away  before  he  would  stir  a  finger  to  save  him. 
It  was  with  the  older  man  he  now  had  dreadful 
business  in  hand. 

'  I  am  glad,'  he  answered,  '  for  in  the  end  he  must 
have  proved  my  death — our  death  ! ' 

And  they  drew  closer  round  the  little  circle  of 
food  the  priest  had  laid  upon  the  rocky  ground,  an 
intimate  understanding  linking  them  together  in  a 
sympathy  that  completed  Limasson's  bewilderment. 
There  was  bread,  he  saw,  and  there  was  salt  ;  there 
was  also  a  little  flask  of  deep  red  wine.  In  the  centre 
of  the  circle  was  a  miniature  fire  of  sticks  the  priest 


i24         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

had  collected  from  the  bushes  of  wild  rhododendron. 
The  smoke  rose  upwards  in  a  thin  blue  line.  It  did 
not  even  quiver,  so  profound  was  the  surrounding 
stillness  of  the  mountain  air,  but  far  away  among  the 
precipices  ran  the  boom  of  falling  water,  and  behind 
it  again,  the  muffled  roar  as  of  peaks  and  snow-fields 
that  swept  with  a  rolling  thunder  through  the  heavens. 

4  They  are  passing,'  the  priest  said  in  a  low  voice, 
'  and  They  know  that  you  are  here.  You  have  now 
the  opportunity  of  a  lifetime  ;  for,  if  you  yield 
acceptance  of  your  own  free  will,  success  is  sure. 
You  stand  before  the  gates  of  birth  and  death.  They 
offer  you  life.' 

'  Yet  ...  I  denied  Them  I  '  He  murmured  it 
below  his  breath. 

1  Denial  is  evocation.  You  called  to  them,  and 
They  have  come.  The  sacrifice  of  your  little  personal 
life  is  all  They  ask.     Be  brave — and  yield  it.' 

He  took  the  bread  as  he  spoke,  and,  breaking  it 
in  three  pieces,  he  placed  one  before  Limasson,  one 
before  himself,  and  the  third  he  laid  upon  the  flame 
which  first  blackened  and  then  consumed  it. 

*  Eat  it  and  understand,'  he  said,  '  for  it  is  the 
nourishment  that  shall  revive  your  fading  life.' 

Next,  with  the  salt,  he  did  the  same.  Then, 
raising  the  flask  of  wine,  he  put  it  to  his  lips,  offering 
it  afterwards  to  his  companion.  When  both  had 
drunk  there  still  remained  the  greater  part  of  the 
contents.  He  lifted  the  vessel  with  both  hands 
reverently  towards  the  sky.     He  stood  upright. 

'  The  blood  of  your  personal  life  I  offer  to  Them 
in  your  name.  By  the  renunciation  which  seems  to 
you  as  death  shall  you  pass  through  the  gates  of  birth 
to  the  life  of  freedom  beyond.  For  the  ultimate 
sacrifice  that  They  ask  of  you  is — this.' 


THE  SACRIFICE  125 

And  bending  low  before  the  distant  heights,  he 
poured  the  wine  upon  the  rocky  ground. 

For  a  period  of  time  Limasson  found  no  means  of 
measuring,  so  terrible  were  the  emotions  in  his  heart, 
the  priest  remained  in  this  attitude  of  worship  and 
obeisance.  The  tumult  in  the  mountains  ceased. 
An  absolute  hush  dropped  down  upon  the  world. 
There  seemed  a  pause  in  the  inner  history  of  the 
universe  itself.  All  waited — till  he  rose  again.  And, 
when  he  did  so,  the  mask  that  had  for  hours  now 
been  spreading  across  his  features,  was  accomplished. 
The  eyes  gazed  sternly  down  into  his  own.  Limasson 
looked — and  recognised.  He  stood  face  to  face 
with  the  man  whom  he  knew  best  of  all  others  in  the 
world   .   .  .  himself. 

There  had  been  death.  There  had  also  been 
that  recovery  of  splendour  which  is  birth  and 
resurrection. 

And  the  sun  that  moment,  with  the  sudden 
surprise  that  mountains  only  know,  rushed  clear 
above  the  heights,  bathing  the  landscape  and  the 
standing  figure  with  a  stainless  glory.  Into  the  vast 
Temple  where  he  knelt,  as  into  that  greater  inner 
Temple  which  is  mankind's  true  House  of  Royalty, 
there  poured  the  completing  Presence  which  is — 
Light. 

4  For  in  this  way,  and  in  this  way  only,  shall  you 
pass  from  death  to  life,'  sang  a  chanting  voice  he 
recognised  also  now  for  the  first  time  as  indubitably 
his  own. 

It  was  marvellous.  But  the  birth  of  light  is  ever 
marvellous.  It  was  anguish  ;  but  the  pangs  of 
resurrection  since  time  began  have  been  accomplished 
by  the  sweetness  of  fierce  pain.  For  the  majority 
still  lie  in  the  pre-natal  stage,  unborn,  unconscious  of 


126         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

a  definite  spiritual  existence.  In  the  womb  they 
grope  and  stifle,  depending  ever  upon  another.  Denial 
is  ever  the  call  to  life,  a  protest  against  continued 
darkness  for  deliverance.  Yet  birth  is  the  ruin  of 
all  that  has  hitherto  been  depended  on.  There  comes 
then  that  standing  alone  which  at  first  seems  deso- 
late isolation.  The  tumult  of  destruction  precedes 
release. 

Limasson  rose  to  his  feet,  stood  with  difficulty 
upright,  looked  about  him  from  the  figure  so  close 
now  at  his  side  to  the  snowy  summit  of  that  Tour 
du  Neant  he  would  never  climb.  The  roar  and 
thunder  of  Their  passage  was  resumed.  It  seemed 
the  mountains  reeled. 

'  They  are  passing,'  sang  the  voice  that  was 
beside  him  and  within  him  too,  *  but  They  have 
known  you,  and  your  offering  is  accepted.  When 
They  come  close  upon  the  world  there  is  ever 
wreckage  and  disaster  in  the  affairs  of  men.  They 
bring  disorder  and  confusion  into  the  mind,  a  con- 
fusion that  seems  final,  a  disorder  that  seems  to 
threaten  death.  For  there  is  tumult  in  Their 
Presence,  and  apparent  chaos  that  seems  the  abandon- 
ment of  order.  Out  of  this  vast  ruin,  then,  there 
issues  life  in  new  design.  The  dislocation  is  its 
entrance,  the  dishevelment  its  strength.  There  has 
been  birth.  .   .  .' 

The  sunlight  dazzled  his  eyes.  That  distant 
roar,  like  a  wind,  came  close  and  swept  his  face.  An 
icy  air,  as  from  a  passing  star,  breathed  over  him. 

'  Are  you  prepared  ? '  he  heard. 

He  knelt  again.  Without  a  sign  of  hesitation  or 
reluctance,  he  bared  his  chest  to  the  sun  and  wind. 
The  flash  came  swiftly,  instantly,  descending  into  his 
heart  with  unerring  aim.      He  saw  the  gleam  in  the 


THE  SACRIFICE  127 

air,  he  felt  the  fiery  impact  of  the  blow,  he  even  saw 
the  stream  gush  forth  and  sink  into  the  rocky  ground, 
far  redder  than  the  wine.  .  .  . 

He  gasped  for  breath  a  moment,  staggered, 
reeled,  collapsed  .  .  .  and  within  the  moment,  so 
quickly  did  all  happen,  he  was  aware  of  hands  that 
supported  him  and  helped  him  to  his  feet.  But  he 
was  too  weak  to  stand.  They  carried  him  up  to  bed. 
The  porter,  and  the  man  who  had  reached  across 
him  for  the  matches  five  minutes  before,  intending 
conversation,  stood,  one  at  his  feet  and  the  other  at 
his  head.  As  he  passed  through  the  vestibule  of  the 
hotel,  he  saw  the  people  staring,  and  in  his  hand  he 
crumpled  up  the  unopened  letters  he  had  received  so 
short  a  time  ago. 

'  I  really  think — I  can  manage  alone,'  he  thanked 
them.  '  If  you  will  set  me  down  I  can  walk.  I  felt 
dizzy  for  a  moment.' 

1  The  heat  in  the  hall '  the  gentleman  began 

in  a  quiet,  sympathetic  voice. 

They  left  him  standing  on  the  stairs,  watching  a 
moment  to  see  that  he  had  quite  recovered.  Limasson 
walked  up  the  two  flights  to  his  room  without  falter- 
ing. The  momentary  dizziness  had  passed.  He  felt 
quite  himself  again,  strong,  confident,  able  to  stand 
alone,  able  to  move  forward,  able  to  climb. 


THE  DAMNED 


129 


THE    DAMNED 


I 


'  I'm  over  forty,  Frances,  and  rather  sot  in  my  ways,' 
I  said  good-naturedly,  ready  to  yield  if  she  insisted 
that  our  going  together  on  the  visit  involved  her 
happiness.  '  My  work  is  rather  heavy  just  now 
too,  as  you  know.  The  question  is,  could  1  work 
there — with  a  lot  of  unassorted  people  in  the  house  ? ' 

'  Mabel  doesn't  mention  any  other  people,  Bill,' 
was  my  sister's  rejoinder.  *  I  gather  she's  alone — as 
well  as  lonely.' 

By  the  way  she  looked  sideways  out  of  the 
window  at  nothing,  it  was  obvious  she  was  dis- 
appointed, but  to  my  surprise  she  did  not  urge  the 
point ;  and  as  I  glanced  at  Mrs.  Franklyn's  invita- 
tion lying  upon  her  sloping  lap,  the  neat,  childish 
handwriting  conjured  up  a  mental  picture  of  the 
banker's  widow,  with  her  timid,  insignificant  per- 
sonality, her  pale  grey  eyes  and  her  expression  as  of 
a  backward  child.  I  thought,  too,  of  the  roomy 
country  mansion  her  late  husband  had  altered  to 
suit  his  particular  needs,  and  of  my  visit  to  it  a  few 
years  ago  when  its  barren  spaciousness  suggested  a 
wing  of  Kensington  Museum  fitted  up  temporarily 
as  a  place  to  eat  and  sleep  in.  Comparing  it 
mentally  with  the   poky   Chelsea   flat  where   I   and 

131 


132         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

my  sister  kept  impecunious  house,  I  realised  other 
points  as  well.  Unworthy  details  flashed  across 
me  to  entice  :  the  fine  library,  the  organ,  the  quiet 
work-room  I  should  have,  perfect  service,  the 
delicious  cup  of  early  tea,  and  hot  baths  at  any 
moment  of  the  day — without  a  geyser  ! 

'It's  a  longish  visit,  a  month  —  isn't  it?'  I 
hedged,  smiling  at  the  details  that  seduced  me,  and 
ashamed  of  my  man's  selfishness,  yet  knowing  that 
Frances  expected  it  of  me.  '  There  are  points  about 
it,  I  admit.  If  you're  set  on  my  going  with  you,  I 
could  manage  it  all  right.' 

I  spoke  at  length  in  this  way  because  my  sister 
made  no  answer.  I  saw  her  tired  eyes  gazing  into 
the  dreariness  of  Oakley  Street  and  felt  a  pang  strike 
through  me.  After  a  pause,  in  which  again  she  said 
no  word,  I  added  :  '  So,  when  you  write  the  letter, 
you  might  hint,  perhaps,  that  I  usually  work  all  the 
morning,  and — er — am  not  a  very  lively  visitor ! 
Then  she'll  understand,  you  see.'  And  I  half-rose 
to  return  to  my  diminutive  study,  where  I  was 
slaving,  just  then,  at  an  absorbing  article  on  Com- 
parative ^Esthetic  Values  in  the  Blind  and  Deaf. 

But  Frances  did  not  move.  She  kept  her  grey 
eyes  upon  Oakley  Street  where  the  evening  mist 
from  the  river  drew  mournful  perspectives  into 
view.  It  was  late  October.  We  heard  the  omni- 
buses thundering  across  the  bridge.  The  monotony 
of  that  broad,  characterless  street  seemed  more  than 
usually  depressing.  Even  in  June  sunshine  it  was  dead, 
but  with  autumn  its  melancholy  soaked  into  every 
house  between  King's  Road  and  the  Embankment. 
It  washed  thought  into  the  past,  instead  of  inviting  it 
hopefully  towards  the  future.  For  me,  its  easy  width 
was  an  avenue  through  which  nameless  slums  across 


THE  DAMNED  133 

the  river  sent  creeping  messages  of  depression,  and  I 
always  regarded  it  as  Winter's  main  entrance  into 
London — fog,  slush,  gloom  trooped  down  it  every 
November,  waving  their  forbidding  banners  till 
March  came  to  rout  them.  Its  one  claim  upon  my 
love  was  that  the  south  wind  swept  sometimes  un- 
obstructed up  it,  soft  with  suggestions  of  the  sea. 
These  lugubrious  thoughts  I  naturally  kept  to  my- 
self, though  I  never  ceased  to  regret  the  little  flat 
whose  cheapness  had  seduced  us.  Now,  as  I  watched 
my  sister's  impassive  face,  I  realised  that  perhaps 
she,  too,  felt  as  I  felt,  yet,  brave  woman,  without 
betraying  it. 

'  And,  look  here,  Fanny,'  I  said,  putting  a  hand 
upon  her  shoulder  as  I  crossed  the  room,  '  it  would 
be  the  very  thing  for  you.  You're  worn  out  with 
catering  and  housekeeping.  Mabel  is  your  oldest 
friend,  besides,  and  you've  hardly  seen  her  since  he 
died " 

'  She's  been  abroad  for  a  year,  Bill,  and  only  just 
came  back,'  my  sister  interposed.  *  She  came  back 
rather    unexpectedly,    though    I    never   thought    she 

would  go  there  to  live '     She  stopped  abruptly. 

Clearly,  she  was  only  speaking  half  her  mind. 
'  Probably,'  she  went  on,  '  Mabel  wants  to  pick  up 
old  links  again.' 

'  Naturally,'  I  put  in,  '  yourself  chief  among 
them.'  The  veiled  reference  to  the  house  I  let  pass. 
It  involved  discussing  the  dead  man  for  one  thing. 

'  I  feel  /  ought  to  go  anyhow,'  she  resumed,  *  and 
of  course  it  would  be  jollier  if  you  came  too.  You'd 
get  in  such  a  muddle  here  by  yourself,  and  eat  wrong 
things,  and  forget  to  air  the  rooms,  and — oh,  every- 
thing ! '  She  looked  up  laughing.  '  Only,'  she 
added,  '  there's  the  British  Museum ?  " 


i34         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

'  But  there's  a  big  library  there,'  I  answered, 
*  and  all  the  books  of  reference  I  could  possibly 
want.  It  was  of  you  I  was  thinking.  You  could 
take  up  your  painting  again  ;  you  always  sell  half  of 
what  you  paint.  It  would  be  a  splendid  rest  too, 
and  Sussex  is  a  jolly  country  to  walk  in.  By  all 
means,  Fanny,  I  advise ' 

Our  eyes  met,  as  I  stammered  in  my  attempts  to 
avoid  expressing  the  thought  that  hid  in  both  our 
minds.  My  sister  had  a  weakness  for  dabbling  in 
the  various  '  new '  theories  of  the  day,  and  Mabel, 
who  before  her  marriage  had  belonged  to  foolish 
societies  for  investigating  the  future  life  to  the 
neglect  of  the  present  one,  had  fostered  this  un- 
desirable tendency.  Her  amiable,  impressionable 
temperament  was  open  to  every  psychic  wind 
that  blew.  I  deplored,  detested  the  whole  business. 
But  even  more  than  this  I  abhorred  the  later  in- 
fluence that  Mr.  Franklyn  had  steeped  his  wife  in, 
capturing  her  body  and  soul  in  his  sombre  doctrines. 
I  had  dreaded  lest  my  sister  also  might  be  caught. 

'  Now  that  she  is  alone  again ' 

I  stopped  short.  Our  eyes  now  made  pretence 
impossible,  for  the  truth  had  slipped  out  inevitably, 
stupidly,  although  unexpressed  in  definite  language. 
We  laughed,  turning  our  faces  a  moment  to  look  at 
other  things  in  the  room.  Frances  picked  up  a  book 
and  examined  its  cover  as  though  she  had  made  an 
important  discovery,  while  I  took  my  case  out  and 
lit  a  cigarette  I  did  not  want  to  smoke.  We  left 
the  matter  there.  I  went  out  of  the  room  before 
further  explanation  could  cause  tension.  Disagree- 
ments grow  into  discord  from  such  tiny  things — 
wrong  adjectives,  or  a  chance  inflection  of  the  voice. 
Frances  had  a  right  to  her  views  of  life  as  much  as 


THE  DAMNED  135 

I  had.  At  least,  I  reflected  comfortably,  we  had 
separated  upon  an  agreement  this  time,  recognised 
mutually,  though  not  actually  stated. 

And  this  point  of  meeting  was,  oddly  enough, 
our  way  of  regarding  some  one  who  was  dead. 
For  we  had  both  disliked  the  husband  with  a 
great  dislike,  and  during  his  three  years'  married  life 
had  only  been  to  the  house  once — for  a  week-end 
visit  ;  arriving  late  on  Saturday,  we  had  left  after  an 
early  breakfast  on  Monday  morning.  Ascribing 
my  sister's  dislike  to  a  natural  jealousy  at  losing 
her  old  friend,  I  said  merely  that  he  displeased  me. 
Yet  we  both  knew  that  the  real  emotion  lay  much 
deeper.  Frances,  loyal,  honourable  creature,  had 
kept  silence  ;  and  beyond  saying  that  house  and 
grounds — he  altered  one  and  laid  out  the  other — 
distressed  her  as  an  expression  of  his  personality 
somehow  ("distressed"'  was  the  word  she  used),  no 
further  explanation  had  passed  her  lips. 

Our  dislike  of  his  personality  was  easily  accounted 
for  —  up  to  a  point,  since  both  of  us  shared  the 
artist's  point  of  view  that  a  creed,  cut  to  measure 
and  carefully  dried,  was  an  ugly  thing,  and  that  a 
dogma  to  which  believers  must  subscribe  or  perish 
everlastingly  was  a  barbarism  resting  upon  cruelty. 
But  while  my  own  dislike  was  purely  due  to  an 
abstract  worship  of  Beauty,  my  sister's  had  another 
twist  in  it,  for  with  her  '  new '  tendencies,  she 
believed  that  all  religions  were  an  aspect  of  truth 
and  that  no  one,  even  the  lowest  wretch,  could 
escape  '  heaven '  in  the  long  run. 

Samuel  Franklyn,  the  rich  banker,  was  a  man 
universally  respected  and  admired,  and  the  marriage, 
though  Mabel  was  fifteen  years  his  junior,  won 
general  applause  ;  his  bride  was  an  heiress  in  her  own 


136  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

right — breweries — and  the  story  of  her  conversion  at 
a  revivalist  meeting  where  Samuel  Franklyn  had 
spoken  fervidly  of  heaven,  and  terrifyingly  of  sin, 
hell  and  damnation,  even  contained  a  touch  of  genuine 
romance.  She  was  a  brand  snatched  from  the  burn- 
ing ;  his  detailed  eloquence  had  frightened  her  into 
heaven  ;  salvation  came  in  the  nick  of  time  ;  his 
words  had  plucked  her  from  the  edge  of  that  lake  of 
fire  and  brimstone  where  their  worm  dieth  not  and 
the  fire  is  not  quenched.  She  regarded  him  as  a 
hero,  sighed  her  relief  upon  his  saintly  shoulder,  and 
accepted  the  peace  he  offered  her  with  a  grateful 
resignation. 

For  her  husband  was  a  '  religious  man '  who 
successfully  combined  great  riches  with  the  glamour 
of  winning  souls.  He  was  a  portly  figure,  though 
tall,  with  masterful,  big  hands,  the  fingers  rather 
thick  and  red  ;  and  his  dignity,  that  just  escaped 
being  pompous,  held  in  it  something  that  was  implac- 
able. A  convinced  assurance,  almost  remorseless, 
gleamed  in  his  eyes  when  he  preached  especially,  and 
his  threats  of  hell  fire  must  have  scared  souls  stronger 
than  the  timid,  receptive  Mabel  whom  he  married. 
He  clad  himself  in  long  frock-coats  that  buttoned  un- 
evenly, big  square  boots,  and  trousers  that  invariably 
bagged  at  the  knee  and  were  a  little  short  ;  he  wore 
low  collars,  spats  occasionally,  and  a  tall  black  hat 
that  was  not  of  silk.  His  voice  was  alternately  hard 
and  unctuous  ;  and  he  regarded  theatres,  ball-rooms 
and  race-courses  as  the  vestibule  of  that  brimstone 
lake  of  whose  geography  he  was  as  positive  as  of  his 
great  banking  offices  in  the  City.  A  philanthropist 
up  to  the  hilt,  however,  no  one  ever  doubted  his 
complete  sincerity  ;  his  convictions  were  ingrained, 
his  faith  borne  out  by  his  life — as  witness  his  name 


THE  DAMNED  137 

upon  so  many  admirable  Societies,  as  treasurer,  patron, 
or  heading  the  donation  list.  He  bulked  large  in  the 
world  of  doing  good,  a  broad  and  stately  stone  in  the 
rampart  against  evil.  And  his  heart  was  genuinely 
kind  and  soft  for  others — who  believed  as  he  did. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  this  true  sympathy  with  suffer- 
ing and  his  desire  to  help,  he  was  narrow  as  a  tele- 
graph wire  and  unbending  as  a  church  pillar  ;  he 
was  intensely  selfish  ;  intolerant  as  an  officer  of  the 
Inquisition,  his  bourgeois  soul  constructed  a  revolting 
scheme  of  heaven  that  was  reproduced  in  miniature 
in  all  he  did  and  planned.  Faith  was  the  sine  qua  non 
of  salvation,  and  by  '  faith '  he  meant  belief  in  his 
own  particular  view  of  things — '  which  faith,  except 
every  one  do  keep  whole  and  undefiled,  without  doubt 
he  shall  perish  everlastingly.'  All  the  world  but  his 
own  small,  exclusive  sect  must  be  damned  eternally 
— a  pity,  but  alas,  inevitable.     He  was  right. 

Yet  he  prayed  without  ceasing,  and  gave  heavily 
to  the  poor — the  only  thing  he  could  not  give  being 
big  ideas  to  his  provincial  and  suburban  deity. 
Pettier  than  an  insect,  and  more  obstinate  than  a 
mule,  he  had  also  the  superior,  sleek  humility  of  a 
'  chosen  one.'  He  was  churchwarden  too.  He 
read  the  Lessons  in  a  '  place  of  worship,'  either  chilly 
or  overheated,  where  neither  organ,  vestments,  nor 
lighted  candles  were  permitted,  but  where  the  odour 
of  hair-wash  on  the  boys'  heads  in  the  back  rows 
pervaded  the  entire  building. 

This  portrait  of  the  banker,  who  accumulated 
riches  both  on  earth  and  in  heaven,  may  possibly 
be  overdrawn,  however,  because  Frances  and  I 
were  'artistic  temperaments'  that  viewed  the  type 
with  a  dislike  and  distrust  amounting  to  con- 
tempt.     The  majority   considered  Samuel  Franklyn 


138  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

a  worthy  man  and  a  good  citizen.  The  majority, 
doubtless,  held  the  saner  view.  A  few  years  more, 
and  he  certainly  would  have  been  made  a  baronet. 
He  relieved  much  suffering  in  the  world,  as  assuredly 
as  he  caused  many  souls  the  agonies  of  torturing  fear 
by  his  emphasis  upon  damnation.  Had  there  been 
one  point  of  beauty  in  him,  we  might  have  been  more 
lenient ;  only  we  found  it  not,  and,  I  admit,  took  little 
pains  to  search.  I  shall  never  forget  the  look  of  dour 
forgiveness  with  which  he  heard  our  excuses  for 
missing  Morning  Prayers  that  Sunday  morning  of 
our  single  visit  to  The  Towers.  My  sister  learned 
that  a  change  was  made  soon  afterwards,  prayers 
being  '  conducted  '  after  breakfast  instead  of  before. 

The  Towers  stood  solemnly  upon  a  Sussex  hill 
amid  park -like  modern  grounds,  but  the  house 
cannot  better  be  described — it  would  be  so  wearisome 
for  one  thing — than  by  saying  that  it  was  a  cross 
between  an  overgrown,  pretentious  Norwood  villa 
and  one  of  those  saturnine  Institutes  for  cripples  the 
train  passes  as  it  slinks  ashamed  through  South 
London  into  Surrey.  It  was  '  wealthily '  furnished 
and  at  first  sight  imposing,  but  on  closer  acquaintance 
revealed  a  meagre  personality,  barren  and  austere. 
One  looked  for  Rules  and  Regulations  on  the  walls, 
all  signed  By  Order.  The  place  was  a  prison  that 
shut  out  *  the  world.'  There  was,  of  course,  no 
billiard-room,  no  smoking-room,  no  room  for  play  of 
any  kind,  and  the  great  hall  at  the  back,  once  a 
chapel  which  might  have  been  used  for  dancing, 
theatricals,  or  other  innocent  amusements,  was  conse- 
crated in  his  day  to  meetings  of  various  kinds,  chiefly 
brigades,  temperance  or  missionary  societies.  There 
was  a  harmonium  at  one  end — on  the  level  floor — a 
raised  dais  or  platform  at  the  other,  and  a  gallery 


THE  DAMNED  139 

above  for  the  servants,  gardeners  and  coachmen.  It 
was  heated  with  hot-water  pipes,  and  hung  with 
Dore's  pictures,  though  these  latter  were  soon  removed 
and  stored  out  of  sight  in  the  attics  as  being  too 
unspiritual.  In  polished,  shiny  wood,  it  was  a 
representation  in  miniature  of  that  poky  exclusive 
Heaven  he  took  about  with  him,  externalising  it  in 
all  he  did  and  planned,  even  in  the  grounds  about  the 
house. 

Changes  in  The  Towers,  Frances  told  me,  had 
been  made  during  Mabel's  year  of  widowhood  abroad 
— an  organ  put  into  the  big  hall,  the  library  made 
liveable  and  recatalogued — when  it  was  permissible 
to  suppose  she  had  found  her  soul  again  and  returned 
to  her  normal,  healthy  views  of  life,  which  included 
enjoyment  and  play,  literature,  music  and  the  arts, 
without,  however,  a  touch  of  that  trivial  thoughtless- 
ness usually  termed  worldliness.  Mrs.  Franklyn,  as 
I  remembered  her,  was  a  quiet  little  woman,  shallow, 
perhaps,  and  easily  influenced,  but  sincere  as  a  dog 
and  thorough  in  her  faithful  friendships.  Her  tastes 
at  heart  were  catholic,  and  that  heart  was  simple  and 
unimaginative.  That  she  took  up  with  the  various 
movements  of  the  day  was  sign  merely  that  she  was 
searching  in  her  limited  way  for  a  belief  that  should 
bring  her  peace.  She  was,  in  fact,  a  very  ordinary 
woman,  her  calibre  a  little  less  than  that  of  Frances. 
I  knew  they  used  to  discuss  all  kinds  of  theories 
together,  but  as  these  discussions  never  resulted  in 
action,  1  had  come  to  regard  her  as  harmless.  Still, 
I  was  not  sorry  when  she  married,  and  I  did  not 
welcome  now  a  renewal  of  the  former  intimacy. 
The  philanthropist  had  given  her  no  children,  or  she 
would  have  made  a  good  and  sensible  mother.  No 
doubt  she  would  marry  again. 


i4o         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

'  Mabel  mentions  that  she's  been  alone  at  The 
Towers  since  the  end  of  August,'  Frances  told  me 
at  tea-time  ;  *  and  I'm  sure  she  feels  out  of  it  and 
lonely.  It  would  be  a  kindness  to  go.  Besides,  I 
always  liked  her.' 

I  agreed.  I  had  recovered  from  my  attack  of 
selfishness.     I  expressed  my  pleasure. 

'  You've  written  to  accept,'  I  said,  half  statement 
and  half  question. 

Frances  nodded.  '  I  thanked  for  you,'  she  added 
quietly,  c  explaining  that  you  were  not  free  at  the 
moment,  but  that  later,  if  not  inconvenient,  you 
might  come  down  for  a  bit  and  join  me.' 

I  stared.  Frances  sometimes  had  this  independ- 
ent way  of  deciding  things.  I  was  convicted,  and 
punished  into  the  bargain. 

Of  course  there  followed  argument  and  explana- 
tion, as  between  brother  and  sister  who  were 
affectionate,  but  the  recording  of  our  talk  could  be  of 
little  interest.  It  was  arranged  thus,  Frances  and  I 
both  satisfied.  Two  days  later  she  departed  for  The 
Towers,  leaving  me  alone  in  the  flat  with  everything 
planned  for  my  comfort  and  good  behaviour — she 
was  rather  a  tyrant  in  her  quiet  way — and  her  last 
words  as  I  saw  her  off  from  Charing  Cross  rang  in 
my  head  for  a  long  time  after  she  was  gone  : 

1  I'll  write  and  let  you  know,  Bill.  Eat  properly, 
mind,  and  let  me  know  if  anything  goes  wrong.' 

She  waved  her  small  gloved  hand,  nodded  her  head 
till  the  feather  brushed  the  window,  and  was  gone. 

II 

After  the  note  announcing  her  safe  arrival  a  week 
of  silence  passed,  and  then  a  letter  came  ;  there  were 


THE  DAMNED  t4i 

various  suggestions  for  my  welfare,  and  the  rest  was 
the  usual  rambling  information  and  description 
Frances  loved,  generously  italicised. 

' .  .  .  and  we  are  quite  alone,'  she  went  on  in  her 
enormous  handwriting  that  seemed  such  a  waste  of 
space  and  labour,  '  though  some  others  are  coming 
presently,  I  believe.  You  could  work  here  to  your 
heart's  content.  Mabel  quite  understands,  and  says 
she  would  love  to  have  you  when  you  feel  free  to 
come.  She  has  changed  a  bit — back  to  her  old 
natural  self:  she  never  mentions  him.  The  place  has 
changed  too  in  certain  ways :  it  has  more  cheerfulness, 
I  think.  She  has  put  it  in,  this  cheerfulness,  spaded 
it  in,  if  you  know  what  I  mean  ;  but  it  lies  about 
uneasily  and  is  not  natural — quite.  The  organ  is  a 
beauty.  She  must  be  very  rich  now,  but  she's  as 
gentle  and  sweet  as  ever.  Do  you  know,  Bill,  I 
think  he  must  have  frightened  her  into  marrying  him. 
I  get  the  impression  she  was  afraid  of  him.'  This 
last  sentence  was  inked  out,  but  I  read  it  through  the 
scratching  ;  the  letters  being  too  big  to  hide.  '  He 
had  an  inflexible  will  beneath  all  that  oily  kindness 
which  passed  for  spiritual.  He  was  a  real  personality, 
I  mean.  I'm  sure  he'd  have  sent  you  and  me  cheer- 
fully to  the  stake  in  another  century — for  our  own 
good.  Isn't  it  odd  she  never  speaks  of  him,  even  to 
me  ? '  This,  again,  was  stroked  through,  though 
without  the  intention  to  obliterate — merely  because 
it  was  repetition,  probably.  '  The  only  reminder 
of  him  in  the  house  now  is  a  big  copy  of  the  pre- 
sentation portrait  that  stands  on  the  stairs  of  the 
Multitechnic  Institute  at  Peckham — you  know — that 
life-size  one  with  his  fat  hand  sprinkled  with  rings 
resting  on  a  thick  Bible  and  the  other  slipped  between 
the  buttons  of  a  tight  frock-coat.     It  hangs  in  the 


i42  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

dining-room  and  rather  dominates  our  meals.  I 
wish  Mabel  would  take  it  down.  I  think  she'd  like 
to,  if  she  dared.  There's  not  a  single  photograph  of 
him  anywhere,  even  in  her  own  room.  Mrs.  Marsh 
is  here — you  remember  her,  his  housekeeper,  the  wife 
of  the  man  who  got  penal  servitude  for  killing  a  baby 
or  something, — you  said  she  robbed  him  and  justified 
her  stealing  because  the  story  of  the  unjust  steward 
was  in  the  Bible  !  How  we  laughed  over  that ! 
She  s  just  the  same  too,  gliding  about  all  over  the 
house  and  turning  up  when  least  expected.' 

Other  reminiscences  filled  the  next  two  sides  of 
the  letter,  and  ran,  without  a  trace  of  punctuation, 
into  instructions  about  a  Salamander  stove  for 
heating  my  work-room  in  the  flat ;  these  were 
followed  by  things  I  was  to  tell  the  cook,  and  by 
requests  for  several  articles  she  had  forgotten  and 
would  like  sent  after  her,  two  of  them  blouses, 
with  descriptions  so  lengthy  and  contradictory 
that  I  sighed  as  I  read  them — '  unless  you  come 
down  soon,  in  which  case  perhaps  you  wouldn't 
mind  bringing  them  ;  not  the  mauve  one  I  wear 
in  the  evening  sometimes,  but  the  pale  blue  one 
with  lace  round  the  collar  and  the  crinkly  front. 
They're  in  the  cupboard — or  the  drawer,  I'm  not  sure 
which — of  my  bedroom.  Ask  Annie  if  you're  in 
doubt.  Thanks  most  awfully.  Send  a  telegram, 
remember,  and  we'll  meet  you  in  the  motor  any  time. 
I  don't  quite  know  if  I  shall  stay  the  whole  month — 
alone.  It  all  depends.  .  .  .'  And  she  closed  the 
letter,  the  italicised  words  increasing  recklessly  towards 
the  end,  with  a  repetition  that  Mabel  would  love  to 
have  me  '  for  myself,'  as  also  to  have  a  '  man  in  the 
house,'  and  that  I  only  had  to  telegraph  the  day  and 
the   train.   .   .  .   This   letter,  coming   by  the   second 


THE  DAMNED  143 

post,  interrupted  me  in  a  moment  of  absorbing  work, 
and,  having  read  it  through  to  make  sure  there  was 
nothing  requiring  instant  attention,  I  threw  it  aside 
and  went  on  with  my  notes  and  reading.  Within 
five  minutes,  however,  it  was  back  at  me  again. 
That  restless  thing  called  *  between  the  lines  '  fluttered 
about  my  mind.  My  interest  in  the  Balkan  States — 
political  article  that  had  been  'ordered' — faded. 
Somewhere,  somehow  I  felt  disquieted,  disturbed. 
At  first  I  persisted  in  my  work,  forcing  myself  to 
concentrate,  but  soon  found  that  a  layer  of  new 
impressions  floated  between  the  article  and  my 
attention.  It  was  like  a  shadow,  though  a  shadow 
that  dissolved  upon  inspection.  Once  or  twice  I 
glanced  up,  expecting  to  find  some  one  in  the  room, 
that  the  door  had  opened  unobserved  and  Annie 
was  waiting  for  instructions.  I  heard  the  'buses 
thundering  across  the  bridge.  I  was  aware  of  Oakley 
Street.  Montenegro  and  the  blue  Adriatic  melted 
into  the  October  haze  along  that  depressing  Embank- 
ment that  aped  a  river  bank,  and  sentences  from  the 
letter  flashed  before  my  eyes  and  stung  me.  Picking 
it  up  and  reading  it  through  more  carefully,  I  rang 
the  bell  and  told  Annie  to  find  the  blouses  and  pack 
them  for  the  post,  showing  her  finally  the  written 
description,  and  resenting  the  superior  smile  with 
which  she  at  once  interrupted,  '/  know  them,  sir,'  and 
disappeared. 

But  it  was  not  the  blouses  :  it  was  that  exasperating 
thing  '  between  the  lines  '  that  put  an  end  to  my  work 
with  its  elusive  teasing  nuisance.  The  first  sharp 
impression  is  alone  of  value  in  such  a  case,  for  once 
analysis  begins  the  imagination  constructs  all  kinds  of 
false  interpretation.  The  more  I  thought,  the  more 
I  grew  fuddled.     The  letter,  it  seemed  to  me,  wanted 


i44         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

to  say  another  thing  ;  instead  the  eight  sheets  conveyed 
it  merely.  It  came  to  the  edge  of  disclosure,  then 
halted.  There  was  something  on  the  writer's  mind, 
and  I  felt  uneasy.  Studying  the  sentences  brought, 
however,  no  revelation,  but  increased  confusion  only  ; 
for  while  the  uneasiness  remained,  the  first  clear  hint 
had  vanished.  In  the  end  I  closed  mv  books  and 
went  out  to  look  up  another  matter  at  the  British 
Museum  Library.  Perhaps  I  should  discover  it  that 
way — by  turning  the  mind  in  a  totally  new  direction. 
I  lunched  at  the  Express  Dairy  in  Oxford  Street  close 
by,  and  telephoned  to  Annie  that  I  would  be  home  to 
tea  at  five. 

And  at  tea,  tired  physically  and  mentally  after 
breathing  the  exhausted  air  of  the  Rotunda  for  five 
hours,  my  mind  suddenly  delivered  up  its  original 
impression,  vivid  and  clear-cut ;  no  proof  accompanied 
the  revelation  ;  it  was  mere  presentiment,  but  con- 
vincing. Frances  was  disturbed  in  her  mind,  her 
orderly,  sensible,  housekeeping  mind  ;*  she  was 
uneasy,  even  perhaps  afraid  ;  something  in  the  house 
distressed  her,  and  she  had  need  of  me.  Unless  I 
went  down,  her  time  of  rest  and  change,  her  quite 
necessary  holiday,  in  fact,  would  be  spoilt.  She  was 
too  unselfish  to  say  this,  but  it  ran  everywhere  between 
the  lines.  I  saw  it  clearly  now.  Mrs.  Franklyn, 
moreover — and  that  meant  Frances  too — -would  like 
a  '  man  in  the  house.'  It  was  a  disagreeable  phrase, 
a  suggestive  way  of  hinting  something  she  dared  not 
state  definitely.  The  two  women  in  that  great,  lonely 
barrack  of  a  house  were  afraid. 

My  sense  of  duty,  affection,  unselfishness,  what- 
ever the  composite  emotion  may  be  termed,  was 
stirred  ;  also  my  vanity.  I  acted  quickly,  lest 
reflection     should    warp     clear,     decent    judgment. 


THE  DAMNED  145 

'  Annie,'  I  said,  when  she  answered  the  bell,  '  you 
need  not  send  those  blouses  by  the  post.  I'll  take 
them  down  to-morrow  when  I  go.  I  shall  be  away 
a  week  or  two,  possibly  longer.'  And,  having 
looked  up  a  train,  I  hastened  out  to  telegraph  before 
I  could  change  my  fickle  mind. 

But  no  desire  came  that  night  to  change  my  mind. 
I  was  doing  the  right,  the  necessary  thing.  I  was 
even  in  something  of  a  hurry  to  get  down  to  The 
Towers  as  soon  as  possible.  I  chose  an  early  after- 
noon train. 

Ill 

A  telegram  had  told  me  to  come  to  a  town  ten 
miles  from  the  house,  so  I  was  saved  the  crawling 
train  to  the  local  station,  and  travelled  down  by  an 
express.  As  soon  as  we  left  London  the  fog  cleared 
off,  and  an  autumn  sun,  though  without  heat  in  it, 
painted  the  landscape  with  golden  browns  and  yellows. 
My  spirits  rose  as  I  lay  back  in  the  luxurious  motor 
and  sped  between  the  woods  and  hedges.  Oddly 
enough,  my  anxiety  of  overnight  had  disappeared. 
It  was  due,  no  doubt,  to  that  exaggeration  of  detail 
which  reflection  in  loneliness  brings.  Frances  and  I 
had  not  been  separated  for  over  a  year,  and  her  letters 
from  The  Towers  told  so  little.  It  had  seemed  un- 
natural to  be  deprived  of  those  intimate  particulars 
of  mood  and  feeling  I  was  accustomed  to.  We  had 
such  confidence  in  one  another,  and  our  affection  was 
so  deep.  Though  she  was  but  five  years  younger 
than  myself,  I  regarded  her  as  a  child.  My  attitude 
was  fatherly.  In  return,  she  certainly  mothered  me 
with  a  solicitude  that  never  cloyed.  I  felt  no  desire 
to  marry  while  she  was  still  alive.     She  painted  in 


146         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

water-colours  with  a  reasonable  success,  and  kept 
house  for  me ;  I  wrote,  reviewed  books  and  lectured 
on  aesthetics  ;  we  were  a  humdrum  couple  of  quasi- 
artists,  well  satisfied  with  life,  and  all  I  feared  for  her 
was  that  she  might  become  a  suffragette  or  be  taken 
captive  by  one  of  these  wild  theories  that  caught  her 
imagination  sometimes,  and  that  Mabel,  for  one,  had 
fostered.  As  for  myself,  no  doubt  she  deemed  me 
a  trifle  solid  or  stolid — I  forget  which  word  she  pre- 
ferred— but  on  the  whole  there  was  just  sufficient 
difference  of  opinion  to  make  intercourse  suggestive 
without  monotony,  and  certainly  without  quarrelling. 
Drawing  in  deep  draughts  of  the  stinging  autumn 
air,  I  felt  happy  and  exhilarated.  It  was  like  going 
for  a  holiday,  with  comfort  at  the  end  of  the  journey 
instead  of  bargaining  for  centimes. 

But  my  heart  sank  noticeably  the  moment  the 
house  came  into  view.  The  long  drive,  lined  with 
hostile  monkey  trees  and  formal  wellingtonias  that 
were  solemn  and  sedate,  was  mere  extension  of  the 
miniature  approach  to  a  thousand  semi-detached 
suburban  '  residences '  ;  and  the  appearance  of  The 
Towers,  as  we  turned  the  corner  with  a  rush, 
suggested  a  commonplace  climax  to  a  story  that  had 
begun  interestingly,  almost  thrillingly.  A  villa  had 
escaped  from  the  shadow  of  the  Crystal  Palace, 
thumped  its  way  down  by  night,  grown  suddenly 
monstrous  in  a  shower  of  rich  rain,  and  settled  itself 
insolently  to  stay.  Ivy  climbed  about  the  opulent 
red -brick  walls,  but  climbed  neatly  and  with  dis- 
figuring effect,  sham  as  on  a  prison  or — the  simile 
made  me  smile — an  orphan  asylum.  There  was  no 
hint  of  the  comely  roughness  of  untidy  ivy  on  a  ruin. 
Clipped,  trained  and  precise  it  was,  as  on  a  brand- 
new   protestant  church.      I   swear   there  was   not  a 


THE  DAMNED  147 

bird's  nest  nor  a  single  earwig  in  it  anywhere. 
About  the  porch  it  was  particularly  thick,  smothering 
a  seventeenth-century  lamp  with  a  contrast  that  was 
quite  horrible.  Extensive  glass-houses  spread  away 
on  the  farther  side  of  the  house  ;  the  numerous 
towers  to  which  the  building  owed  its  name  seemed 
made  to  hold  school  bells  ;  and  the  window-sills, 
thick  with  potted  flowers,  made  me  think  of  the 
desolate  suburbs  of  Brighton  or  Bexhill.  In  a  com- 
manding position  upon  the  crest  of  a  hill,  it  overlooked 
miles  of  undulating,  wooded  country  southwards  to 
the  Downs,  but  behind  it,  to  the  north,  thick  banks 
of  ilex,  holly  and  privet  protected  it  from  the  cleaner 
and  more  stimulating  winds.  Hence,  though  highly 
placed,  it  was  shut  in.  Three  years  had  passed  since 
I  last  set  eyes  upon  it,  but  the  unsightly  memory  I 
had  retained  was  justified  by  the  reality.  The  place 
was  deplorable. 

It  is  my  habit  to  express  my  opinions  audibly 
sometimes,  when  impressions  are  strong  enough  to 
warrant  it ;  but  now  I  only  sighed  '  Oh,  dear,'  as  I 
extricated  my  legs  from  many  rugs  and  went  into 
the  house.  A  tall  parlour-maid,  with  the  bearing  of 
a  grenadier,  received  me,  and  standing  behind  her 
was  Mrs.  Marsh,  the  housekeeper,  whom  I  remem- 
bered because  her  untidy  back  hair  had  suggested  to 
me  that  it  had  been  burnt.  I  went  at  once  to  my 
room,  my  hostess  already  dressing  for  dinner,  but 
Frances  came  in  to  see  me  just  as  I  was  struggling 
with  my  black  tie  that  had  got  tangled  like  a  boot- 
lace. She  fastened  it  for  me  in  a  neat,  effective  bow, 
and  while  I  held  my  chin  up  for  the  operation, 
staring  blankly  at  the  ceiling,  the  impression  came — 
I  wondered,  was  it  her  touch  that  caused  it? — that 
something  in  her  trembled.      Shrinking   perhaps   is 


148  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

the  truer  word.  Nothing  in  her  face  or  manner 
betrayed  it,  nor  in  her  pleasant,  easy  talk  while  she 
tidied  my  things  and  scolded  my  slovenly  packing, 
as  her  habit  was,  questioning  me  about  the  servants  at 
the  flat.  The  blouses,  though  right,  were  crumpled, 
and  my  scolding  was  deserved.  There  was  no  im- 
patience even.  Yet  somehow  or  other  the  suggestion 
of  a  shrinking  reserve  and  holding  back  reached  my 
mind.  She  had  been  lonely,  of  course,  but  it  was 
more  than  that  ;  she  was  glad  that  I  had  come,  yet 
for  some  reason  unstated  she  could  have  wished  that 
I  had  stayed  away.  We  discussed  the  news  that  had 
accumulated  during  our  brief  separation,  and  in  doing 
so  the  impression,  at  best  exceedingly  slight,  was 
forgotten.  My  chamber  was  large  and  beautifully 
furnished  ;  the  hall  and  dining-room  of  our  flat  would 
have  gone  into  it  with  a  good  remainder  ;  yet  it  was 
not  a  place  I  could  settle  down  in  for  work.  It  con- 
veyed the  idea  of  impermanence,  making  me  feel 
transient  as  in  a  hotel  bedroom.  This,  of  course, 
was  the  fact.  But  some  rooms  convey  a  settled, 
lasting  hospitality  even  in  a  hotel  ;  this  one  did  not ; 
and  as  I  was  accustomed  to  work  in  the  room  I  slept 
in,  at  least  when  visiting,  a  slight  frown  must  have 
crept  between  my  eyes. 

'  Mabel  has  fitted  a  work-room  for  you  just  out 
of  the  library,'  said  the  clairvoyant  Frances.  '  No 
one  will  disturb  you  there,  and  you'll  have  fifteen 
thousand  books  all  catalogued  within  easy  reach. 
There's  a  private  staircase  too.  You  can  break- 
fast in  your  room  and  slip  down  in  your  dressing- 
gown  if  you  want  to.'  She  laughed.  My  spirits 
took  a  turn  upwards  as  absurdly  as  they  had  gone 
down. 

1  And  how  are  youV  I  asked,  giving  her  a  belated 


THE  DAMNED  149 

kiss.     '  It's  jolly  to  be  together  again.      I  did  feel 
rather  lost  without  you,  I'll  admit.' 

1  That's  natural,'  she  laughed.  '  I'm  so  glad.' 
She  looked  well  and  had  country  colour  in  her 
cheeks.  She  informed  me  that  she  was  eating  and 
sleeping  well,  going  out  for  little  walks  with  Mabel, 
painting  bits  of  scenery  again,  and  enjoying  a  com- 
plete change  and  rest  ;  and  yet,  for  all  her  brave 
description,  the  words  somehow  did  not  quite  ring 
true.  Those  last  words  in  particular  did  not  ring 
true.  There  lay  in  her  manner,  just  out  of  sight,  I 
felt,  this  suggestion  of  the  exact  reverse — of  unrest, 
shrinking,  almost  of  anxiety.  Certain  small  strings 
in  her  seemed  over-tight.  '  Keyed-up '  was  the 
slang  expression  that  crossed  my  mind.  I  looked 
rather  searchingly  into  her  face  as  she  was  telling 
me  this. 

*  Only — the  evenings,'  she  added,  noticing  my 
query,  yet  rather  avoiding  my  eyes,  '  the  evenings 
are — well,  rather  heavy  sometimes,  and  I  find  it 
difficult  to  keep  awake.' 

'  The  strong  air  after  London  makes  you  drowsy,' 
I  suggested,  'and  you  like  to  get  early  to  bed.' 

Frances  turned  and  looked  at  me  for  a  moment 
steadily.  '  On  the  contrary,  Bill,  I  dislike  going 
to  bed — here.  And  Mabel  goes  so  early.'  She 
said  it  lightly  enough,  fingering  the  disorder  upon 
my  dressing-table  in  such  a  stupid  way  that  I  saw 
her  mind  was  working  in  another  direction  alto- 
gether. She  looked  up  suddenly  with  a  kind  of 
nervousness  from  the  brush  and  scissors.  '  Billy,' 
she  said  abruptly,  lowering  her  voice,  '  isn't  it  odd, 
but  I  hate  sleeping  alone  here  ?  I  can't  make  it  out 
quite  ;  I've  never  felt  such  a  thing  before  in  my  life. 
Do  you — think  it's  all  nonsense  ? '    And  she  laughed, 


i5o 


INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 


with  her  lips  but  not  with  her  eyes ;  there  was  a  note 
of  defiance  in  her  I  failed  to  understand. 

s  Nothing  a  nature  like  yours  feels  strongly  is 
nonsense,  Frances,'  I  replied  soothingly. 

But  I,  too,  answered  with  my  lips  only,  for 
another  part  of  my  mind  was  working  elsewhere, 
and  among  uncomfortable  things.  A  touch  of 
bewilderment  passed  over  me.  I  was  not  certain 
how  best  to  continue.  If  I  laughed  she  would  tell 
me  no  more,  yet  if  I  took  her  too  seriously  the 
strings  would  tighten  further.  Instinctively,  then, 
this  flashed  rapidly  across  me  :  that  something  of 
what  she  felt,  I  had  also  felt,  though  interpreting  it 
differently.  Vague  it  was,  as  the  coming  of  rain 
or  storm  that  announce  themselves  hours  in  advance 
with  their  hint  of  faint,  unsettling  excitement  in  the 
air.  I  had  been  but  a  short  hour  in  the  house, — big, 
comfortable,  luxurious  house, — but  had  experienced 
this  sense  of  being  unsettled,  unfixed,  fluctuating — a 
kind  of  impermanence  that  transient  lodgers  in  hotels 
must  feel,  but  that  a  guest  in  a  friend's  home  ought 
not  to  feel,  be  the  visit  short  or  long.  To  Frances, 
an  impressionable  woman,  the  feeling  had  come  in  the 
terms  of  alarm.  She  disliked  sleeping  alone,  while 
yet  she  longed  to  sleep.  The  precise  idea  in  my  mind 
evaded  capture,  merely  brushing  through  me,  three- 
quarters  out  of  sight ;  I  realised  only  that  we  both 
felt  the  same  thing,  and  that  neither  of  us  could  get 
at  it  clearly.  Degrees  of  unrest  we  felt,  but  the 
actual  thing  did  not  disclose  itself.  It  did  not 
happen. 

I  felt  strangely  at  sea  for  a  moment.  Frances 
would  interpret  hesitation  as  endorsement,  and 
encouragement  might  be  the  last  thing  that  could 
help  her. 


THE  DAMNED 


lSl 


'  Sleeping  in  a  strange  house,'  I  answered  at 
length,  '  is  often  difficult  at  first,  and  one  feels  lonely. 
After  fifteen  months  in  our  tiny  flat  one  feels  lost 
and  uncared-for  in  a  big  house.  It's  an  uncomfort- 
able feeling — I  know  it  well.  And  this  is  a  barrack, 
isn't  it  ?  The  masses  of  furniture  only  make  it  worse. 
One  feels  in  storage  somewhere  underground — the 
furniture  doesn't  furnish.  One  must  never  yield  to 
fancies,  though ' 

Frances  looked  away  towards  the  windows  ;  she 
seemed  disappointed  a  little. 

'  After  our  thickly-populated  Chelsea,'  I  went  on 
quickly,  *  it  seems  isolated  here.' 

But  she  did  not  turn  back,  and  clearly  I  was  saying 
the  wrong  thing.  A  wave  of  pity  rushed  suddenly 
over  me.  Was  she  really  frightened,  perhaps  ?  She 
was  imaginative,  I  knew,  but  never  moody ;  common 
sense  was  strong  in  her,  though  she  had  her  times  of 
hypersensitiveness.  I  caught  the  echo  of  some  un- 
reasoning, big  alarm  in  her.  She  stood  there,  gazing 
across  my  balcony  towards  the  sea  of  wooded  country 
that  spread  dim  and  vague  in  the  obscurity  of  the 
dusk.  The  deepening  shadows  entered  the  room, 
I  fancied,  from  the  grounds  below.  Following  her 
abstracted  gaze  a  moment,  I  experienced  a  curious 
sharp  desire  to  leave,  to  escape.  Out  yonder  was 
wind  and  space  and  freedom.  This  enormous  build- 
ing was  oppressive,  silent,  still.  Great  catacombs 
occurred  to  me,  things  beneath  the  ground,  imprison- 
ment and  capture.  I  believe  I  even  shuddered  a 
little. 

I  touched  her  shoulder.  She  turned  round  slowly, 
and  we  looked  with  a  certain  deliberation  into  each 
other's  eyes. 

'  Fanny,'  I  asked,  more  gravely  than  I  intended, 


1 52  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

'  you   are    not   frightened,   are   you  ?     Nothing   has 
happened,  has  it  ? ' 

She  replied  with  emphasis,  '  Of  course  not !  How 
could  it — I  mean,  why  should  I  ? '  She  stammered, 
as  though  the  wrong  sentence  flustered  her  a  second. 
'  It's  simply — that  1  have  this  ter — this  dislike  of 
sleeping  alone.' 

Naturally,  my  first  thought  was  how  easy  it  would 
be  to  cut  our  visit  short.  But  I  did  not  say  this. 
Had  it  been  a  true  solution,  Frances  would  have  said 
it  for  me  long  ago. 

1  Wouldn't  Mabel  double-up  with  you  ? '  I  said 
instead,  '  or  give  you  an  adjoining  room,  so  that  you 
could  leave  the  door  between  you  open  ?  There's 
space  enough,  heaven  knows.' 

And  then,  as  the  gong  sounded  in  the  hall  below 
for  dinner,  she  said,  as  with  an  effort,  this  thing  : 

1  Mabel  did  ask  me — on  the  third  night — after  I 
had  told  her.     But  I  declined.' 

*  You'd  rather  be  alone  than  with  her  ? '  I  asked, 
with  a  certain  relief. 

Her  reply  was  so  gravely  given,  a  child  would 
have  known  there  was  more  behind  it  :  *  Not  that  ; 
but  that  she  did  not  really  want  it.* 

I  had  a  moment's  intuition  and  acted  on  it  im- 
pulsively. *  She  feels  it  too,  perhaps,  but  wishes  to 
face  it  by  herself — and  get  over  it  ?  ' 

My  sister  bowed  her  head,  and  the  gesture  made 
me  realise  of  a  sudden  how  grave  and  solemn  our  talk 
had  grown,  as  though  some  portentous  thing  were 
under  discussion.  It  had  come  of  itself — indefinite 
as  a  gradual  change  of  temperature.  Yet  neither  of 
us  knew  its  nature,  for  apparently  neither  of  us 
could  state  it  plainly.  Nothing  happened,  even  in 
our  words. 


THE  DAMNED 


*S3 


1  That  was  my  impression,'  she  said,  '  — that  if 
she  yields  to  it  she  encourages  it.  And  a  habit 
forms  so  easily.  Just  think,'  she  added  with  a  faint 
smile  that  was  the  first  sign  of  lightness  she  had  yet 
betrayed,  '  what  a  nuisance  it  would  be — everywhere 
— if  everybody  was  afraid  of  being  alone — like  that.' 

I  snatched  readily  at  the  chance.  We  laughed 
a  little,  though  it  was  a  quiet  kind  of  laughter  that 
seemed  wrong.  I  took  her  arm  and  led  her  towards 
the  door. 

'  Disastrous,  in  fact,'  I  agreed. 

She  raised  her  voice  to  its  normal  pitch  again,  as 
I  had  done.  '  No  doubt  it  will  pass,'  she  said,  *  now 
that  you  have  come.  Of  course,  it's  chiefly  my 
imagination.'  Her  tone  was  lighter,  though  nothing 
could  convince  me  that  the  matter  itself  was  light — 
just  then.  '  And  in  any  case,'  tightening  her  grip 
on  my  arm  as  we  passed  into  the  bright  enormous 
corridor  and  caught  sight  of  Mrs.  Franklyn  waiting 
in  the  cheerless  hall  below,  '  I'm  very  glad  you're 
here,  Bill,  and  Mabel,  I  know,  is  too.' 

1  If  it  doesn't  pass,'  I  just  had  time  to  whisper 
with  a  feeble  attempt  at  jollity,  '  I'll  come  at  night 
and  snore  outside  your  door.  After  that  you'll  be 
so  glad  to  get  rid  of  me  that  you  won't  mind  being 
alone.' 

*  That's  a  bargain,'  said  Frances. 

I  shook  my  hostess  by  the  hand,  made  a  banal 
remark  about  the  long  interval  since  last  we  met, 
and  walked  behind  them  into  the  great  dining-room, 
dimly  lit  by  candles,  wondering  in  my  heart  how 
long  my  sister  and  I  should  stay,  and  why  in  the 
world  we  had  ever  left  our  cosy  little  flat  to  enter 
this  desolation  of  riches  and  false  luxury  at  all.  The 
unsightly  picture  of  the  late  Samuel  Franklyn,  Esq., 


i54  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

stared  down  upon  me  from  the  farther  end  of  the 
room  above  the  mighty  mantelpiece.  He  looked, 
I  thought,  like  some  pompous  Heavenly  Butler  who 
denied  to  all  the  world,  and  to  us  in  particular,  the 
right  of  entry  without  presentation  cards  signed  by 
his  hand  as  proof  that  we  belonged  to  his  own 
exclusive  set.  The  majority,  to  his  deep  grief,  and 
in  spite  of  all  his  prayers  on  their  behalf,  must  burn 
and  'perish  everlastingly.' 


IV 

With  the  instinct  of  the  healthy  bachelor  I  always 
try  to  make  myself  a  nest  in  the  place  I  live  in,  be 
it  for  long  or  short.  Whether  visiting,  in  lodging- 
house,  or  in  hotel,  the  first  essential  is  this  nest — 
one's  own  things  built  into  the  walls  as  a  bird  builds 
in  its  feathers.  It  may  look  desolate  and  uncom- 
fortable enough  to  others,  because  the  central  detail 
is  neither  bed  nor  wardrobe,  sofa  nor  arm-chair,  but 
a  good  solid  writing-table  that  does  not  wriggle,  and 
that  has  wide  elbow-room.  And  The  Towers  is 
vividly  described  for  me  by  the  single  fact  that  I 
could  not  '  nest '  there.  I  took  several  days  to  dis- 
cover this,  but  the  first  impression  of  impermanence 
was  truer  than  I  knew.  The  feathers  of  the  mind 
refused  here  to  lie  one  way.  They  ruffled,  pointed 
and  grew  wild. 

Luxurious  furniture  does  not  mean  comfort  ;  I 
might  as  well  have  tried  to  settle  down  in  the  sofa 
and  arm-chair  department  of  a  big  shop.  My  bed- 
room was  easily  managed  ;  it  was  the  private  work- 
room, prepared  especially  for  my  reception,  that 
made  me  feel  alien  and  outcast.  Externally,  it  was 
all  one  could  desire  :  an  ante-chamber  to  the  great 


THE  DAMNED  155 

library,  with  not  one,  but  two  generous  oak  tables, 
to  say  nothing  of  smaller  ones  against  the  walls  with 
capacious  drawers.  There  were  reading  -  desks, 
mechanical  devices  for  holding  books,  perfect  light, 
quiet  as  in  a  church,  and  no  approach  but  across  the 
huge  adjoining  room.     Yet  it  did  not  invite. 

'  I  hope  you'll  be  able  to  work  here,'  said  my 
little  hostess  the  next  morning,  as  she  took  me  in — 
her  only  visit  to  it  while  I  stayed  in  the  house — and 
showed  me  the  ten-volume  Catalogue.  '  It's  abso- 
lutely quiet  and  no  one  will  disturb  you.' 

1  If  you  can't,  Bill,  you're  not  much  good,' 
laughed  Frances,  who  was  on  her  arm.  *  Even  I 
could  write  in  a  study  like  this  ! ' 

I  glanced  with  pleasure  at  the  ample  tables,  the 
sheets  of  thick  blotting-paper,  the  rulers,  sealing-wax, 
paper-knives,  and  all  the  other  immaculate  parapher- 
nalia. '  It's  perfect,'  I  answered  with  a  secret  thrill, 
yet  feeling  a  little  foolish.  This  was  for  Gibbon  or 
Carlyle,  rather  than  for  my  pot-boiling  insignificancies. 
1  If  I  can't  write  masterpieces  here,  it's  certainly  not 
your  fault,'  and  I  turned  with  gratitude  to  Mrs. 
Franklyn.  She  was  looking  straight  at  me,  and 
there  was  a  question  in  her  small  pale  eyes  I  did  not 
understand.  Was  she  noting  the  effect  upon  me,  I 
wondered  ? 

'  You'll  write  here- — perhaps  a  story  about  the 
house,'  she  said  ;  '  Thompson  will  bring  you  anything 
you  want  ;  you  only  have  to  ring.'  She  pointed  to 
the  electric  bell  on  the  central  table,  the  wire  running 
neatly  down  the  leg.  '  No  one  has  ever  worked  here 
before,  and  the  library  has  been  hardly  used  since  it 
was  put  in.  So  there's  no  previous  atmosphere  to 
affect  your  imagination — er — adversely.' 

We    laughed.      '  Bill   isn't    that    sort,'    said     my 


156  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

sister  ;  while  I  wished  they  would  go  out  and  leave 
me  to  arrange  my  little  nest  and  set  to  work. 

I  thought,  of  course,  it  was  the  huge  listening 
library  that  made  me  feel  so  inconsiderable — the 
fifteen  thousand  silent,  staring  books,  the  solemn 
aisles,  the  deep,  eloquent  shelves.  But  when  the 
women  had  gone  and  I  was  alone,  the  beginning  of 
the  truth  crept  over  me,  and  I  felt  that  first  hint  of 
disconsolateness  which  later  became  an  imperative 
No.  The  mind  shut  down,  images  ceased  to  rise 
and  flow.  I  read,  made  copious  notes,  but  I  wrote 
no  single  line  at  The  Towers.  Nothing  completed 
itself  there.      Nothing  happened. 

The  morning  sunshine  poured  into  the  library 
through  ten  long  narrow  windows  ;  birds  were 
singing  ;  the  autumn  air,  rich  with  a  faint  aroma  of 
November  melancholy  that  stung  the  imagination 
pleasantly,  filled  my  ante- chamber.  I  looked  out 
upon  the  undulating  wooded  landscape,  hemmed  in 
by  the  sweep  of  distant  Downs,  and  I  tasted  a  whiff* 
of  the  sea.  Rooks  cawed  as  they  floated  above  the 
elms,  and  there  were  lazy  cows  in  the  nearer  meadows. 
A  dozen  times  I  tried  to  make  my  nest  and  settle 
down  to  work,  and  a  dozen  times,  like  a  turning 
fastidious  dog  upon  a  hearth-rug,  I  rearranged  my 
chair  and  books  and  papers.  The  temptation  of  the 
Catalogue  and  shelves,  of  course,  was  accountable  for 
much,  yet  not,  I  felt,  for  all.  That  was  a  manageable 
seduction.  My  work,  moreover,  was  not  of  the 
creative  kind  that  requires  absolute  absorption  ;  it 
was  the  mere  readable  presentation  of  data  I  had 
accumulated.  My  note- books  were  charged  with 
facts  ready  to  tabulate — facts,  too,  that  interested  me 
keenly.  A  mere  effort  of  the  will  was  necessary, 
and  concentration  of  no  difficult  kind.     Yet,  some- 


THE  DAMNED 


157 


how,  it  seemed  beyond  me  :  something  for  ever 
pushed  the  facts  into  disorder  .  .  .  and  in  the  end 
I  sat  in  the  sunshine,  dipping  into  a  dozen  books 
selected  from  the  shelves  outside,  vexed  with  myself 
and  only  half-enjoying  it.  I  felt  restless.  I  wanted 
to  be  elsewhere. 

And  even  while  I  read,  attention  wandered. 
Frances,  Mabel,  her  late  husband,  the  house  and 
grounds,  each  in  turn  and  sometimes  all  together, 
rose  uninvited  into  the  stream  of  thought,  hinder- 
ing any  consecutive  flow  of  work.  In  disconnected 
fashion  came  these  pictures  that  interrupted  con- 
centration, yet  presenting  themselves  as  broken 
fragments  of  a  bigger  thing  my  mind  already 
groped  for  unconsciously.  They  fluttered  round 
this  hidden  thing  of  which  they  were  aspects, 
fugitive  interpretations,  no  one  of  them  bringing 
complete  revelation.  There  was  no  adjective,  such 
as  pleasant  or  unpleasant,  that  I  could  attach  to  what 
I  felt,  beyond  that  the  result  was  unsettling.  Vague 
as  the  atmosphere  of  a  dream,  it  yet  persisted,  and  I 
could  not  dissipate  it.  Isolated  words  or  phrases  in 
the  lines  I  read  sent  questions  scouring  across  my 
mind,  sure  sign  that  the  deeper  part  of  me  was  restless 
and  ill  at  ease. 

Rather  trivial  questions  too — half-foolish  inter- 
rogations, as  of  a  puzzled  or  curious  child  :  Why  was 
my  sister  afraid  to  sleep  alone,  and  why  did  her  friend 
feel  a  similar  repugnance,  yet  seek  to  conquer  it  ? 
Why  was  the  solid  luxury  of  the  house  without  com- 
fort, its  shelter  without  the  sense  of  permanence  ? 
Why  had  Mrs.  Franklyn  asked  us  to  come,  artists, 
unbelieving  vagabonds,  types  at  the  farthest  possible 
remove  from  the  saved  sheep  of  her  husband's  house- 
hold ?      Had  a  reaction  set  in  against  the  hysteria  of 


158  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

her  conversion  ?  I  had  seen  no  signs  of  religious 
fervour  in  her  ;  her  atmosphere  was  that  of"  an 
ordinary,  high-minded  woman,  yet  a  woman  of  the 
world.  Lifeless,  though,  a  little,  perhaps,  now  that 
I  came  to  think  about  it :  she  had  made  no  definite 
impression  upon  me  of  any  kind.  And  my  thoughts 
ran  vaguely  after  this  fragile  clue. 

Closing  my  book,  I  let  them  run.  For,  with  this 
chance  reflection  came  the  discovery  that  I  could 
not  see  her  clearly — could  not  feel  her  soul,  her 
personality.  Her  face,  her  small  pale  eyes,  her  dress 
and  body  and  walk,  all  these  stood  before  me  like  a 
photograph ;  but  her  Self  evaded  me.  She  seemed 
not  there,  lifeless,  empty,  a  shadow — nothing.  The 
picture  was  disagreeable,  and  I  put  it  by.  Instantly 
she  melted  out,  as  though  light  thought  had  conjured 
up  a  phantom  that  had  no  real  existence.  And 
at  that  very  moment,  singularly  enough,  my  eye 
caught  sight  of  her  moving  past  the  window,  going 
silently  along  the  gravel  path.  I  watched  her,  a 
sudden  new  sensation  gripping  me.  '  There  goes  a 
prisoner,'  my  thought  instantly  ran,  '  one  who  wishes 
to  escape,  but  cannot.' 

What  brought  the  outlandish  notion,  heaven  only 
knows.  The  house  was  of  her  own  choice,  she  was 
twice  an  heiress,  and  the  world  lay  open  at  her  feet. 
Yet  she  stayed — unhappy,  frightened,  caught.  All 
this  flashed  over  me,  and  made  a  sharp  impression 
even  before  I  had  time  to  dismiss  it  as  absurd.  But 
a  moment  later  explanation  offered  itself,  though  it 
seemed  as  far-fetched  as  the  original  impression.  My 
mind,  being  logical,  was  obliged  to  provide  some- 
thing, apparently.  For  Mrs.  Franklyn,  while  dressed 
to  go  out,  with  thick  walking-boots,  a  pointed  stick, 
and  a  motor-cap  tied  on  with  a  veil  as  for  the  windy 


THE  DAMNED  159 

lanes,  was  obviously  content  to  go  no  farther  than 
the  little  garden  paths.  The  costume  was  a  sham 
and  a  pretence.  It  was  this,  and  her  lithe,  quick 
movements  that  suggested  a  caged  creature  —  a 
creature  tamed  by  fear  and  cruelty  that  cloaked 
themselves  in  kindness — pacing  up  and  down,  unable 
to  realise  why  it  got  no  farther,  but  always  met  the 
same  bars  in  exactly  the  same  place.  The  mind  in 
her  was  barred. 

I  watched  her  go  along  the  paths  and  down  the 
steps  from  one  terrace  to  another,  until  the  laurels 
hid  her  altogether  ;  and  into  this  mere  imagining  of 
a  moment  came  a  hint  of  something  slightly  disagree- 
able, for  which  my  mind,  search  as  it  would,  found 
no  explanation  at  all.  I  remembered  then  certain 
other  little  things.  They  dropped  into  the  picture 
of  their  own  accord.  In  a  mind  not  deliberately 
hunting  for  clues,  pieces  of  a  puzzle  sometimes  come 
together  in  this  way,  bringing  revelation,  so  that  for 
a  second  there  flashed  across  me,  vanishing  instantly 
again  before  I  could  consider  it,  a  large,  distressing 
thought  that  I  can  only  describe  vaguely  as  a  Shadow. 
Dark  and  ugly,  oppressive  certainly  it  might  be 
described,  with  something  torn  and  dreadful  about 
the  edges  that  suggested  pain  and  strife  and  terror. 
The  interior  of  a  prison  with  two  rows  of  occupied 
condemned  cells,  seen  years  ago  in  New  York,  sprang 
to  memory  after  it — the  connection  between  the  two 
impossible  to  surmise  even.  But  the  '  certain  other 
little  things '  mentioned  above  were  these  :  that 
Mrs.  Franklyn,  in  last  night's  dinner  talk,  had 
always  referred  to  '  this  house,'  but  never  called  it 
'  home '  ;  and  had  emphasised  unnecessarily,  for  a 
well-bred  woman,  our  '  great  kindness  '  in  coming 
down   to   stay  so   long  with  her.     Another  time,  in 


160         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

answer  to  my  futile  compliment  about  the  '  stately 
rooms,'  she  said  quietly,  '  It  is  an  enormous  house 
for  so  small  a  party  ;  but  I  stay  here  very  little,  and 
only  till  I  get  it  straight  again.'  The  three  of  us 
were  going  up  the  great  staircase  to  bed  as  this  was 
said,  and,  not  knowing  quite  her  meaning,  I  dropped 
the  subject.  It  edged  delicate  ground,  I  felt.  Frances 
added  no  word  of  her  own.  It  now  occurred  to  me 
abruptly  that  '  stay  '  was  the  word  made  use  of,  when 
'  live '  would  have  been  more  natural.  How  insig- 
nificant to  recall  !  Yet  why  did  they  suggest  them- 
selves just  at  this  moment  ?  .  .  .  And,  on  going  to 
Frances's  room  to  make  sure  she  was  not  nervous  or 
lonely,  I  realised  abruptly,  that  Mrs.  Franklyn,  of 
course,  had  talked  with  her  in  a  confidential  sense 
that  I,  as  a  mere  visiting  brother,  could  not  share. 
Frances  had  told  me  nothing.  I  might  easily  have 
wormed  it  out  of  her,  had  I  not  felt  that  for  us  to 
discuss  further  our  hostess  and  her  house  merely 
because  we  were  under  the  roof  together,  was  not 
quite  nice  or  loyal. 

'  I'll  call  you,  Bill,  if  I'm  scared,'  she  had  laughed 
as  we  parted,  my  room  being  just  across  the  big 
corridor  from  her  own.  I  had  fallen  asleep,  think- 
ing what  in  the  world  was  meant  by  '  getting  it 
straight  again.' 

And  now  in  my  ante-chamber  to  the  library,  on 
the  second  morning,  sitting  among  piles  of  foolscap 
and  sheets  of  spotless  blotting-paper,  all  useless  to 
me,  these  slight  hints  came  back  and  helped  to  frame 
the  big,  vague  Shadow  I  have  mentioned.  Up  to 
the  neck  in  this  Shadow,  almost  drowned,  yet  just 
treading  water,  stood  the  figure  of  my  hostess  in  her 
walking  costume.  Frances  and  I  seemed  swimming 
to  her  aid.     The  Shadow  was  large  enough  to  include 


THE  DAMNED  161 

both  house  and  grounds,  but  farther  than  that  I  could 
not  see.  .  .  .  Dismissing  it,  I  fell  to  reading  my 
purloined  book  again.  Before  I  turned  another  page, 
however,  another  startling  detail  leaped  out  at  me  : 
the  figure  of  Mrs.  Franldyn  in  the  Shadow  was  not 
living.  It  floated  helplessly,  like  a  doll  or  puppet  that 
has  no  life  in  it.  It  was  both  pathetic  and  dreadful. 
Any  one  who  sits  in  reverie  thus,  of  course,  may 
see  similar  ridiculous  pictures  when  the  will  no  longer 
guides  construction.  The  incongruities  of  dreams 
are  thus  explained.  I  merely  record  the  picture  as 
it  came.  That  it  remained  by  me  for  several  days, 
just  as  vivid  dreams  do,  is  neither  here  nor  there.  I 
did  not  allow  myself  to  dwell  upon  it.  The  curious 
thing,  perhaps,  is  that  from  this  moment  I  date  my 
inclination,  though  not  yet  my  desire,  to  leave.  I 
purposely  say  '  to  leave.'  I  cannot  quite  remember 
when  the  word  changed  to  that  aggressive,  frantic 
thing  which  is  escape. 

V 

We  were  left  delightfully  to  ourselves  in  this  pre- 
tentious country  mansion  with  the  soul  of  a  villa. 
Frances  took  up  her  painting  again,  and,  the  weather 
being  propitious,  spent  hours  out  of  doors,  sketching 
flowers,  trees  and  nooks  of  woodland,  garden,  even 
the  house  itself  where  bits  of  it  peered  suggestively 
across  the  orchards.  Mrs.  Franklyn  seemed  always 
busy  about  something  or  other,  and  never  interfered 
with  us  except  to  propose  motoring,  tea  in  another 
part  of  the  lawn,  and  so  forth.  She  flitted  every- 
where, preoccupied,  yet  apparently  doing  nothing. 
The  house  engulfed  her  rather.  No  visitors  called. 
For  one  thing,  she  was  not  supposed  to  be  back  from 

M 


1 62  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

abroad  yet ;  and  for  another,  I  think,  the  neighbour- 
hood— her   husband's   neighbourhood — was  puzzled 
by  her  sudden  cessation  from  good  works.     Brigades 
and  temperance  societies  did  not  ask  to  hold  their 
meetings  in  the  big  hall,  and  the  vicar  arranged  the 
school-treats  in  another's  field  without  explanation. 
The  full-length  portrait  in  the  dining-room,  and  the 
presence  of  the  housekeeper  with  the  '  burnt '  back- 
hair,  indeed,  were  the  only  reminders  of  the  man  who 
once  had  lived  here.     Mrs.  Marsh  retained  her  place 
in  silence,  well-paid  sinecure  as  it  doubtless  was,  yet 
with  no  hint  of  that  suppressed  disapproval  one  might 
have  expected  from  her.     Indeed  there  was  nothing 
positive     to    disapprove,    since     nothing     '  worldly ' 
entered  grounds  or  building.     In  her  master's  life- 
time she  had  been  another  '  brand  snatched  from  the 
burning,'  and  it  had  then  been  her  custom  to  give 
vociferous  '  testimony '  at  the  revival  meetings  where 
he  adorned  the  platform  and  led  in  streams  of  prayer. 
I  saw  her  sometimes  on  the  stairs,  hovering,  wander- 
ing, half-watching  and  half-listening,  and  the   idea 
came  to  me  once  that  this  woman  somehow  formed 
a  link  with   the   departed   influence  of  her  bigoted 
employer.     She,    alone    among    us,   belonged  to    the 
house,  and  looked  at    home    there.      When  I  saw 
her  talking — oh,  with  such   correct   and   respectful 
mien — to  Mrs.  Franklyn,  I  had  the  feeling  that  for 
all  her  unaggressive  attitude,  she  yet  exerted  some 
influence  that  sought  to  make  her  mistress  stay  in  the 
building  for  ever — live  there.      She  would  prevent 
her  escape,  prevent  her  'getting  it  straight  again,' 
thwart  somehow  her  will  to  freedom,  if  she  could. 
The  idea  in  me  was  of  the  most  fleeting  kind.     But 
another  time,  when  I  came  down  late  at  night  to  get 
a  book  from  the  library  ante-chamber,  and  found  her 


THE  DAMNED  163 

sitting  in  the  hall — alone — the  impression  left  upon 
me  was  the  reverse  of  fleeting.  I  can  never  forget 
the  vivid,  disagreeable  effect  it  produced  upon  me. 
What  was  she  doing  there  at  half-past  eleven  at  night, 
all  alone  in  the  darkness  ?  She  was  sitting  upright, 
stiff,  in  a  big  chair  below  the  clock.  It  gave  me  a 
turn.  It  was  so  incongruous  and  odd.  She  rose 
quietly  as  I  turned  the  corner  of  the  stairs,  and  asked 
me  respectfully,  her  eyes  cast  down  as  usual,  whether 
I  had  finished  with  the  library,  so  that  she  might 
lock  up.  There  was  no  more  to  it  than  that  ;  but 
the  picture  stayed  with  me — unpleasantly. 

These  various  impressions  came  to  me  at  odd 
moments,  of  course,  and  not  in  a  single  sequence  as 
I  now  relate  them.  I  was  hard  at  work  before  three 
days  were  past,  not  writing,  as  explained,  but  read- 
ing, making  notes,  and  gathering  material  from  the 
library  for  future  use.  It  was  in  chance  moments 
that  these  curious  flashes  came,  catching  me  unawares 
with  a  touch  of  surprise  that  sometimes  made  me 
start.  For  they  proved  that  my  under-mind  was  still 
conscious  of  the  Shadow,  and  that  far  away  out  of 
sight  lay  the  cause  of  it  that  left  me  with  a  vague 
unrest,  unsettled,  seeking  to  '  nest  in  a  place  that 
did  not  want  me.  Only  when  this  deeper  part 
knows  harmony,  perhaps,  can  good  brain  work 
result,  and  my  inability  to  write  was  thus  explained. 
Certainly,  I  was  always  seeking  for  something  here  I 
could  not  find  —  an  explanation  that  continually 
evaded  me.  Nothing  but  these  trivial  hints  offered 
themselves.  Lumped  together,  however,  they  had 
the  effect  of  defining  the  Shadow  a  little.  I  became 
more  and  more  aware  of  its  very  real  existence. 
And,  if  I  have  made  little  mention  of  Frances  and 
my  hostess  in  this  connection,  it  is  because  they  con- 


1 64         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

tributed  at  first  little  or  nothing  towards  the  dis- 
covery of  what  this  story  tries  to  tell.  Our  life  was 
wholly  external,  normal,  quiet,  and  uneventful  ;  con- 
versation banal — Mrs.  Franklyn's  conversation  in 
particular.  They  said  nothing  that  suggested  reve- 
lation. Both  were  in  this  Shadow,  and  both  knew 
that  they  were  in  it,  but  neither  betrayed  by  word  or 
act  a  hint  of  interpretation.  They  talked  privately, 
no  doubt,  but  of  that  I  can  report  no  details. 

And  so  it  was  that,  after  ten  days  of  a  very  common- 
place visit,  I  found  myself  looking  straight  into  the 
face  of  a  Strangeness  that  defied  capture  at  close 
quarters.  *  There's  something  here  that  never 
happens,'  were  the  words  that  rose  in  my  mind, 
'  and  that's  why  none  of  us  can  speak  of  it.'  And 
as  I  looked  out  of  the  window  and  watched  the 
vulgar  blackbirds,  with  toes  turned  in,  boring  out 
their  worms,  I  realised  sharply  that  even  they,  as 
indeed  everything  large  and  small  in  the  house  and 
grounds,  shared  this  strangeness,  and  were  twisted  out 
of  normal  appearance  because  of  it.  Life,  as  ex- 
pressed in  the  entire  place,  was  crumpled,  dwarfed, 
emasculated.  God's  meanings  here  were  crippled,  His 
love  of  joy  was  stunted.  Nothing  in  the  garden  danced 
or  sang.  There  was  hate  in  it.  '  The  Shadow,'  my 
thought  hurried  on  to  completion,  '  is  a  manifestation 
of  hate  ;  and  hate  is  the  Devil.'  And  then  I  sat 
back  frightened  in  my  chair,  for  I  knew  that  I  had 
partly  found  the  truth. 

Leaving  my  books  I  went  out  into  the  open. 
The  sky  was  overcast,  yet  the  day  by  no  means 
gloomy,  for  a  soft,  diffused  light  oozed  through  the 
clouds  and  turned  all  things  warm  and  almost 
summery.  But  I  saw  the  grounds  now  in  their 
nakedness  because  I  understood.      Hate  means  strife, 


THE  DAMNED  165 

and  the  two  together  weave  the  robe  that  terror 
wears.  Having  no  so-called  religious  beliefs  myself, 
nor  belonging  to  any  set  of  dogmas  called  a  creed,  1 
could  stand  outside  these  feelings  and  observe.  Yet 
they  soaked  into  me  sufficiently  for  me  to  grasp 
sympathetically  what  others,  with  more  cabined  souls 
(I  flattered  myself),  might  feel.  That  picture  in  the 
dining-room  stalked  everywhere,  hid  behind  every 
tree,  peered  down  upon  me  from  the  peaked  ugliness 
of  the  bourgeois  towers,  and  left  the  impress  of  its 
powerful  hand  upon  every  bed  of  flowers.  '  You 
must  not  do  this,  you  must  not  do  that,'  went  past 
me  through  the  air.  'You  must  not  leave  these 
narrow  paths,'  said  the  rigid  iron  railings  of  black. 
'  You  shall  not  walk  here,'  was  written  on  the  lawns. 
'  Keep  to  the  steps,'  '  Don't  pick  the  flowers  ;  make 
no  noise  of  laughter,  singing,  dancing,'  was  placarded 
all  over  the  rose-garden,  and  '  Trespassers  will  be — 
not  prosecuted  but — destroyed'  hung  from  the  crest  of 
monkey-tree  and  holly.  Guarding  the  ends  of  each 
artificial  terrace  stood  gaunt,  implacable  policemen, 
warders,  gaolers.  '  Come  with  us,'  they  chanted,  '  or 
be  damned  eternally.' 

I  remember  feeling  quite  pleased  with  myself  that 
I  had  discovered  this  obvious  explanation  of  the 
prison -feeling  the  place  breathed  out.  That  the 
posthumous  influence  of  heavy  old  Samuel  Franklyn 
might  be  an  inadequate  solution  did  not  occur  to  me. 
By  '  getting  the  place  straight  again,'  his  widow,  of 
course,  meant  forgetting  the  glamour  of  fear  and 
foreboding  his  depressing  creed  had  temporarily 
forced  upon  her ;  and  Frances,  delicately-minded 
being,  did  not  speak  of  it  because  it  was  the  in- 
fluence of  the  man  her  friend  had  loved.  I  felt 
lighter  ;  a  load  was  lifted  from  me.     '  To  trace  the 


1 66  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

unfamiliar  to  the  familiar,'  came  back  a  sentence  I 
had  read  somewhere,  '  is  to  understand.'  It  was  a 
real  relief.  I  could  talk  with  Frances  now,  even 
with  my  hostess,  no  danger  of  treading  clumsily. 
For  the  key  was  in  my  hands.  I  might  even  help  to 
dissipate  the  Shadow,  '  to  get  it  straight  again.'  It 
seemed,  perhaps,  our  long  invitation  was  explained  ! 

I  went  into  the  house  laughing — at  myself  a  little. 
'  Perhaps  after  all  the  artist's  outlook,  with  no  hard 
and  fast  dogmas,  is  as  narrow  as  the  others  !  How 
small  humanity  is  !  And  why  is  there  no  possible 
and  true  combination  of  all  outlooks  ? ' 

The  feeling  of  '  unsettling  '  was  very  strong  in  me 
just  then,  in  spite  of  my  big  discovery  which  was  to 
clear  everything  up.  And  at  that  moment  I  ran  into 
Frances  on  the  stairs,  with  a  portfolio  of  sketches 
under  her  arm. 

It  came  across  me  then  abruptly  that,  although 
she  had  worked  a  great  deal  since  we  came,  she  had 
shown  me  nothing.  It  struck  me  suddenly  as  odd, 
unnatural.  The  way  she  tried  to  pass  me  now  con- 
firmed my  new-born  suspicion  that — well,  that  her 
results  were  hardly  what  they  ought  to  be. 

'  Stand  and  deliver  !  '  I  laughed,  stepping  in  front 
of  her.  '  I've  seen  nothing  you've  done  since  you've 
been  here,  and  as  a  rule  you  show  me  all  your  things. 
I  believe  they  are  atrocious  and  degrading ! '  Then 
my  laughter  froze. 

She  made  a  sly  gesture  to  slip  past  me,  and  I 
almost  decided  to  let  her  go,  for  the  expression  that 
flashed  across  her  face  shocked  me.  She  looked 
uncomfortable  and  ashamed ;  the  colour  came  and 
went  a  moment  in  her  cheeks,  making  me  think  of  a 
child  detected  in  some  secret  naughtiness.  It  was 
almost  fear. 


THE  DAMNED  167 

'  It's  because  they're  not  finished  then  ? '  I  said, 
dropping  the  tone  of  banter,  '  or  because  they're  too 
good  for  me  to  understand  ?  '  For  my  criticism  of 
painting,  she  told  me,  was  crude  and  ignorant  some- 
times.    '  But  you'll  let  me  see  them  later,  won't  you?' 

Frances,  however,  did  not  take  the  way  of  escape 
I  offered.  She  changed  her  mind.  She  drew  the 
portfolio  from  beneath  her  arm  instead.  '  You  can 
see  them  if  you  really  want  to,  Bill,'  she  said  quietly, 
and  her  tone  reminded  me  of  a  nurse  who  says  to  a 
boy  just  grown  out  of  childhood,  '  you  are  old  enough 
now  to  look  upon  horror  and  ugliness — only  I  don't 
advise  it.' 

'  I  do  want  to,'  I  said,  and  made  to  go  downstairs 
with  her.  But,  instead,  she  said  in  the  same  low 
voice  as  before,  '  Come  up  to  my  room,  we  shall  be 
undisturbed  there.'  So  I  guessed  that  she  had  been 
on  her  way  to  show  the  paintings  to  our  hostess,  but 
did  not  care  for  us  all  three  to  see  them  together. 
My  mind  worked  furiously. 

'  Mabel  asked  me  to  do  them,'  she  explained  in 
a  tone  of  submissive  horror,  once  the  door  was  shut, 
*  in  fact,  she  begged  it  of  me.  You  know  how  per- 
sistent she  is  in  her  quiet  way.     I — er — had  to.' 

She  flushed  and  opened  the  portfolio  on  the  little 
table  by  the  window,  standing  behind  me  as  I  turned 
the  sketches  over — sketches  of  the  grounds  and  trees 
and  garden.  In  the  first  moment  of  inspection,  how- 
ever, I  did  not  take  in  clearly  why  my  sister's  sense 
of  modesty  had  been  offended.  For  my  attention 
flashed  a  second  elsewhere.  Another  bit  of  the  puzzle 
had  dropped  into  place,  defining  still  further  the 
nature  of  what  I  called  '  the  Shadow.'  Mrs.  Franklyn, 
I  now  remembered,  had  suggested  to  me  in  the  library 
that  I  might  perhaps  write  something  about  the  place, 


1 68  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

and  I  had  taken  it  for  one  of  her  banal  sentences  and 
paid  no  further  attention.  I  realised  now  that  it  was 
said  in  earnest.  She  wanted  our  interpretations,  as 
expressed  in  our  respective  '  talents,'  painting  and 
writing.  Her  invitation  was  explained.  She  left  us 
to  ourselves  on  purpose. 

'  I  should  like  to  tear  them  up,'  Frances  was 
whispering  behind  me  with  a  shudder,  '  only  I  pro- 
mised  '     She  hesitated  a  moment. 

'  Promised  not  to  ? '  I  asked  with  a  queer  feeling 
of  distress,  my  eyes  glued  to  the  papers. 

'  Promised  always  to  show  them  to  her  first,'  she 
finished  so  low  I  barely  caught  it. 

I  have  no  intuitive,  immediate  grasp  of  the  value 
of  paintings  ;  results  come  to  me  slowly,  and  though 
every  one  believes  his  own  judgment  to  be  good,  I 
dare  not  claim  that  mine  is  worth  more  than  that  of 
any  other  layman.  Frances  had  too  often  convicted 
me  of  gross  ignorance  and  error.  I  can  only  say 
that  I  examined  these  sketches  with  a  feeling  of 
amazement  that  contained  revulsion,  if  not  actually 
horror  and  disgust.  They  were  outrageous.  I  felt 
hot  for  my  sister,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  know  she  had 
moved  across  the  room  on  some  pretence  or  other, 
and  did  not  examine  them  with  me.  Her  talent,  of 
course,  is  mediocre,  yet  she  has  her  moments  of 
inspiration — moments,  that  is  to  say,  when  a  view 
of  Beauty  not  normally  her  own  flames  divinely 
through  her.  And  these  interpretations  struck  me 
forcibly  as  being  thus  '  inspired  ' — not  her  own.  They 
were  uncommonly  well  done ;  they  were  also  atrocious. 
The  meaning  in  them,  however,  was  never  more  than 
hinted.  There  the  unholy  skill  and  power  came  in  : 
they  suggested  so  abominably,  leaving  most  to  the 
imagination.    To  find  such  significance  in  a  bourgeois 


THE  DAMNED  169 

villa  garden,  and  to  interpret  it  with  such  delicate  yet 
legible  certainty,  was  a  kind  of  symbolism  that  was 
sinister,  even  diabolical.  The  delicacy  was  her  own, 
but  the  point  of  view  was  another's.  And  the  word 
that  rose  in  my  mind  was  not  the  gross  description 
of  *  impure,'  but  the  more  fundamental  qualification 
— *  un-pure.' 

In  silence  I  turned  the  sketches  over  one  by  one, 
as  a  boy  hurries  through  the  pages  of  an  evil  book 
lest  he  be  caught. 

*  What  does  Mabel  do  with  them  ? '  I  asked  pres- 
ently in  a  low  tone,  as  I  neared  the  end.  '  Does 
she  keep  them  ?  ' 

'  She  makes  notes  about  them  in  a  book  and  then 
destroys  them,'  was  the  reply  from  the  end  of  the 
room.  I  heard  a  sigh  of  relief.  '  I'm  glad  you've 
seen  them,  Bill.  I  wanted  you  to — but  was  afraid 
to  show  them.     You  understand  ? ' 

'  I  understand,'  was  my  reply,  though  it  was  not 
a  question  intended  to  be  answered.  All  I  under- 
stood really  was  that  Mabel's  mind  was  as  sweet  and 
pure  as  my  sister's,  and  that  she  had  some  good 
reason  for  what  she  did.  She  destroyed  the  sketches, 
but  first  made  notes !  It  was  an  interpretation  of 
the  place  she  sought.  Brother-like,  I  felt  resent- 
ment, though,  that  Frances  should  waste  her  time 
and  talent,  when  she  might  be  doing  work  that 
she  could  sell.  Naturally,  I  felt  other  things  as 
well.   .   .  . 

1  Mabel  pays  me  five  guineas  for  each  one,'  I 
heard.     '  Absolutely  insists.' 

I  stared  at  her  stupidly  a  moment,  bereft  of  speech 
or  wit. 

'  I  must  either  accept,  or  go  away,'  she  went  on 
calmly,  but  a  little  white.     '  I've  tried  everything. 


i7o         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

There  was  a  scene  the  third  day  I  was  here — when  I 
showed  her  my  first  result.  I  wanted  to  write  to 
you,  but  hesitated ' 

'  It's  unintentional,  then,  on  your  part — forgive 
my  asking  it,  Frances,  dear  ? '  I  blundered,  hardly 
knowing  what  to  think  or  say.  '  Between  the  lines ' 
of  her  letter  came  back  to  me.  '  I  mean,  you  make 
the  sketches  in  your  ordinary  way  and — the  result 
comes  out  of  itself,  so  to  speak  ? ' 

She  nodded,  throwing  her  hands  out  like  a 
Frenchman.  '  We  needn't  keep  the  money  tor 
ourselves,  Bill.  We  can  give  it  away,  but — I 
must  either  accept  or  leave,'  and  she  repeated  the 
shrugging  gesture.  She  sat  down  on  the  chair  facing 
me,  staring  helplessly  at  the  carpet. 

'  You  say  there  was  a  scene  ? '  I  went  on  pres- 
ently.    '  She  insisted  ? ' 

'  She  begged  me  to  continue,'  my  sister  replied 
very  quietly.  '  She  thinks — that  is,  she  has  an  idea 
or  theory  that  there's  something  about  the  place — 
something  she  can't  get  at  quite.'  Frances  stam- 
mered badly.  She  knew  I  did  not  encourage  her 
wild  theories. 

'  Something  she  feels — yes,'  I  helped  her,  more 
than  curious. 

'  Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean,  Bill,'  she  said 
desperately.  '  That  the  place  is  saturated  with  some 
influence  that  she  is  herself  too  positive  or  too  stupid 
to  interpret.  She's  trying  to  make  herself  negative 
and  receptive,  as  she  calls  it,  but  can't,  of  course, 
succeed.  Haven't  you  noticed  how  dull  and  im- 
personal and  insipid  she  seems,  as  though  she  had  no 
personality  ?  She  thinks  impressions  will  come  to 
her  that  way.     But  they  don't ' 

'  Naturally.' 


THE  DAMNED  171 

'So  she's  trying  me — us. — what  she  calls  the 
sensitive  and  impressionable  artistic  temperament. 
She  says  that  until  she  is  sure  exactly  what  this 
influence  is,  she  can't  fight  it,  turn  it  out,  "  get  the 
house  straight,"  as  she  phrases  it.' 

Remembering  my  own  singular  impressions,  I  felt 
more  lenient  than  I  might  otherwise  have  done.  I 
tried  to  keep  impatience  out  of  my  voice. 

'  And  this  influence,  what — whose  is  it  ?  ' 

We  used  the  pronoun  that  followed  in  the  same 
breath,  for  I  answered  my  own  question  at  the  same 
moment  as  she  did  : 

'  His*  Our  heads  nodded  involuntarily  towards 
the  floor,  the  dining-room  being  directly  underneath. 

And  my  heart  sank,  my  curiosity  died  away  on 
the  instant,  I  felt  bored.  A  commonplace  haunted 
house  was  the  last  thing  in  the  world  to  amuse  or 
interest  me.  The  mere  thought  exasperated,  with 
its  suggestions  of  imagination,  overwrought  nerves, 
hysteria,  and  the  rest.  Mingled  with  my  other  feel- 
ings was  certainly  disappointment.  To  see  a  figure 
or  feel  a  '  presence,'  and  report  from  day  to  day 
strange  incidents  to  each  other  would  be  a  form  of 
weariness  I  could  never  tolerate. 

1  But  really,  Frances,'  I  said  firmly,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  '  it's  too  far-fetched,  this  explana- 
tion. A  curse,  you  know,  belongs  to  the  ghost 
stories  of  early  Victorian  days.'  And  only  my 
positive  conviction  that  there  was  something  after 
all  worth  discovering,  and  that  it  most  certainly  was 
not  this,  prevented  my  suggesting  that  we  terminate 
our  visit  forthwith,  or  as  soon  as  we  decently  could. 
1  This  is  not  a  haunted  house,  whatever  it  is,'  I  con- 
cluded somewhat  vehemently,  bringing  my  hand  down 
upon  her  odious  portfolio. 


1 72  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

My  sister's  reply  revived  my  curiosity  sharply. 

'  I  was  waiting  for  you  to  say  that.  Mabel  says 
exactly  the  same.  He  is  in  it — but  it's  something 
more  than  that  alone,  something  far  bigger  and  more 
complicated.'  Her  sentence  seemed  to  indicate  the 
sketches,  and  though  I  caught  the  inference  I  did 
not  take  it  up,  having  no  desire  to  discuss  them  with 
her  just  then,  indeed,  if  ever. 

I  merely  stared  at  her  and  listened.  Questions, 
I  felt  sure,  would  be  of  little  use.  It  was  better  she 
should  say  her  thought  in  her  own  way. 

'  He  is  one  influence,  the  most  recent,'  she  went 
on  slowly,  and  always  very  calmly,  '  but  there  are 
others — deeper  layers,  as  it  were — underneath.  If 
his  were  the  only  one,  something  would  happen.  But 
nothing  ever  does  happen.  The  others  hinder  and 
prevent  —  as  though  each  were  struggling  to  pre- 
dominate.' 

I  had  felt  it  already  myself.  The  idea  was  rather 
horrible.      I  shivered. 

'  That's  what  is  so  ugly  about  it — that  nothing 
ever  happens,'  she  said.  *  There  is  this  endless 
anticipation — always  on  the  dry  edge  of  a  result  that 
never  materialises.  It  is  torture.  Mabel  is  at  her 
wits'   end,   you  see.     And  when   she   begged   me — 

what  I  felt  about  my  sketches — I  mean '     She 

stammered  badly  as  before. 

I  stopped  her.  I  had  judged  too  hastily.  That 
queer  symbolism  in  her  paintings,  pagan  and  yet  not 
innocent,  was,  I  understood,  the  result  of  mixture. 
I  did  not  pretend  to  understand,  but  at  least  I 
could  be  patient.  I  consequently  held  my  peace. 
We  did  talk  on  a  little  longer,  but  it  was  more 
general  talk  that  avoided  successfully  our  hostess, 
the  paintings,  wild  theories,  and  him — until  at  length 


THE  DAMNED  173 

the  emotion  Frances  had  hitherto  so  successfully 
kept  under  burst  vehemently  forth  again.  It  had 
hidden  between  her  calm  sentences,  as  it  had  hidden 
between  the  lines  of  her  letter.  It  swept  her  now 
from  head  to  foot,  packed  tight  in  the  thing  she  then 
said. 

'  Then,  Bill,  if  it  is  not  an  ordinary  haunted  house,' 
she  asked,  '  zvhat  is  it  ?  ' 

The  words  were  commonplace  enough.  The 
emotion  was  in  the  tone  of  her  voice  that  trembled  ; 
in  the  gesture  she  made,  leaning  forward  and  clasp- 
ing both  hands  upon  her  knees,  and  in  the  slight 
blanching  of  her  cheeks  as  her  brave  eyes  asked  the 
question  and  searched  my  own  with  anxiety  that 
bordered  upon  panic.  In  that  moment  she  put  herself 
under  my  protection.     I  winced. 

'  And  why,'  she  added,  lowering  her  voice  to  a 
still  and  furtive  whisper,  '  does  nothing  ever  happen  ? 
If  only,'  —  this  with  great  emphasis — 'something 
would  happen — break  this  awful  tension — bring 
relief.  It's  the  waiting  I  cannot  stand.'  And  she 
shivered  all  over  as  she  said  it,  a  touch  of  wildness 
in  her  eyes. 

I  would  have  given  much  to  have  made  a  true 
and  satisfactory  answer.  My  mind  searched  frantic- 
ally for  a  moment,  but  in  vain.  There  lay  no  suf- 
ficient answer  in  me.  I  felt  what  she  felt,  though 
with  differences.  No  conclusive  explanation  lay 
within  reach.  Nothing  happened.  Eager  as  I  was 
to  shoot  the  entire  business  into  the  rubbish  heap 
where  ignorance  and  superstition  discharge  their 
poisonous  weeds,  I  could  not  honestly  accomplish 
this.  To  treat  Frances  as  a  child,  and  merely 
'explain  away'  would  be  to  strain  her  confidence  in 
my  protection,  so  affectionately  claimed.     It  would 


174         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

further  be  dishonest  to  myself — weak,  besides — to 
deny  that  I  had  also  felt  the  strain  and  tension  even 
as  she  did.  While  my  mind  continued  searching, 
I  returned  her  stare  in  silence  ;  and  Frances  then, 
with  more  honesty  and  insight  than  my  own,  gave 
suddenly  the  answer  herself — an  answer  whose  truth 
and  adequacy,  so  far  as  they  went,  I  could  not  readily 
gainsay  : 

'  I  think,  Bill,  because  it  is  too  big  to  happen  here 
— to  happen  anywhere,  indeed,  all  at  once: — and  too 
awful ! ' 

To  have  tossed  the  sentence  aside  as  nonsense, 
argufid  it  away,  proved  that  it  was  really  meaning- 
less, would  have  been  easy — at  any  other  time  or  in 
any  other  place  ;  and,  had  the  past  week  brought  me 
none  of  the  vivid  impressions  it  had  brought  me,  this 
is  doubtless  what  I  should  have  done.  My  narrow- 
ness again  was  proved.  We  understand  in  others 
only  what  we  have  in  ourselves.  But  her  explanation, 
in  a  measure,  I  knew  was  true.  It  hinted  at  the 
strife  and  struggle  that  my  notion  of  a  Shadow  had 
seemed  to  cover  thinly. 

*  Perhaps,'  I  murmured  lamely,  waiting  in  vain  for 
her  to  say  more.  '  But  you  said  just  now  that  you 
felt  the  thing  was  a  in  layers,"  as  it  were.  Do  you 
mean  each  one — each  influence — fighting  for  the 
upper  hand  ? ' 

I  used  her  phraseology  to  conceal  my  own  poverty. 
Terminology,  after  all,  was  nothing,  provided  we 
could  reach  the  idea  itself. 

Her  eyes  said  yes.  She  had  her  clear  conception, 
arrived  at  independently,  as  was  her  way.  And, 
unlike  her  sex,  she  kept  it  clear,  unsmothered  by  too 
many  words. 

1  One  set  of  influences  gets  at  me,  another  gets  at 


THE  DAMNED  175 

you.  It's  according  to  our  temperaments,  I  think.' 
She  glanced  significantly  at  the  vile  portfolio. 
'Sometimes  they  are  mixed — and  therefore  false. 
There  has  always  been  in  me,  more  than  in  you,  the 
pagan  thing,  perhaps,  though  never,  thank  God,  like 
that." 

The  frank  confession  of  course  invited  my  own,  as 
it  was  meant  to  do.  Yet  it  was  difficult  to  find  the 
words. 

1  What  I  have  felt  in  this  place,  Frances,  I  honestly 
can  hardly  tell  you,  because — er — my  impressions 
have  not  arranged  themselves  in  any  definite  form  I 
can  describe.  The  strife,  the  agony  of  vainly-sought 
escape,  and  the  unrest — a  sort  of  prison  atmosphere 
— this  I  have  felt  at  different  times  and  with  varying 
degrees  of  strength.  But  I  find,  as  yet,  no  final  label 
to  attach.  I  couldn't  say  pagan,  Christian,  or  any- 
thing like  that,  I  mean,  as  you  do.  As  with  the 
blind  and  deaf,  you  may  have  an  intensification  of 
certain  senses  denied  to  me,  or  even  another  sense 
altogether  in  embryo ' 

'  Perhaps,'  she  stopped  me,  anxious  to  keep  to  the 
point,  'you  feel  it  as  Mabel  does.  She  feels  the 
whole  thing  complete.'' 

*  That  also  is  possible,'  I  said  very  slowly.  I  was 
thinking  behind  my  words.  Her  odd  remark  that 
it  was  '  big  and  awful '  came  back  upon  me  as  true. 
A  vast  sensation  of  distress  and  discomfort  swept  me 
suddenly.  Pity  was  in  it,  and  a  fierce  contempt,  a 
savage,  bitter  anger  as  well.  Fury  against  some  sham 
authority  was  part  of  it. 

1  Frances,'  I  said,  caught  unawares,  and  dropping 
all  pretence,  '  what  in  the  world  can  it  be  ?  '  I 
looked  hard  at  her.  For  some  minutes  neither  of  us 
spoke. 


176  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

*  Have  you  felt  no  desire  to  interpret  it  ? '  she 
asked  presently. 

'  Mabel  did  suggest  my  writing  something  about 
the  house,'  was  my  reply,  'but  I've  felt  nothing 
imperative.  That  sort  of  writing  is  not  my  line,  you 
know.  My  only  feeling,'  I  added,  noticing  that  she 
waited  for  more,  '  is  the  impulse  to  explain,  discover, 
get  it  out  of  me  somehow,  and  so  get  rid  of  it.  Not 
by  writing,  though — as  yet.'  And  again  I  repeated 
my  former  question  :  '  What  in  the  world  do  you 
think  it  is  ?  '  My  voice  had  become  involuntarily 
hushed.     There  was  awe  in  it. 

Her  answer,  given  with  slow  emphasis,  brought 
back  all  my  reserve  :  the  phraseology  provoked  me 
rather :  — 

'  Whatever  it  is,  Bill,  it  is  not  of  God.' 

I  got  up  to  go  downstairs.  I  believe  I  shrugged 
my  shoulders,  '  Would  you  like  to  leave,  Frances  ? 
Shall  we  go  back  to  town  ? '  I  suggested  this  at  the 
door,  and  hearing  no  immediate  reply,  I  turned  back 
to  look.  Frances  was  sitting  with  her  head  bowed 
over  and  buried  in  her  hands.  The  attitude  horribly 
suggested  tears.  No  woman,  I  realised,  can  keep 
back  the  pressure  of  strong  emotion  as  long  as  Frances 
had  done,  without  ending  in  a  fluid  collapse.  I 
waited  a  moment  uneasily,  longing  to  comfort,  yet 
afraid  to  act — and  in  this  way  discovered  the  exist- 
ence of  the  appalling  emotion  in  myself,  hitherto  but 
half  guessed.  At  all  costs  a  scene  must  be  prevented  : 
it  would  involve  such  exaggeration  and  over-state- 
ment. Brutally,  such  is  the  weakness  of  the  ordinary 
man,  I  turned  the  handle  to  go  out,  but  my  sister 
then  raised  her  head.  The  sunlight  caught  her  face, 
framed  untidily  in  its  auburn  hair,  and  I  saw  her 
wonderful  expression  with  a  start.     Pity,  tenderness 


THE  DAMNED  177 

and  sympathy  shone  in  it  like  a  flame.  It  was 
undeniable.  There  shone  through  all  her  features  the 
imperishable  love  and  yearning  to  sacrifice  self  for 
others  which  I  have  seen  in  only  one  type  of  human 
being.      It  was  the  great  mother  look. 

'  We  must  stay  by  Mabel  and  help  her  get  it 
straight,'  she  whispered,  making  the  decision  for  us 
both. 

I  murmured  agreement.  Abashed  and  half 
ashamed,  I  stole  softly  from  the  room  and  went 
out  into  the  grounds.  And  the  first  thing  clearly 
realised  when  alone  was  this  :  that  the  long  scene 
between  us  was  without  definite  result.  The  exchange 
of  confidence  was  really  nothing  but  hints  and  vague 
suggestion.  We  had  decided  to  stay,  but  it  was  a 
negative  decision  not  to  leave  rather  than  a  positive 
action.  All  our  words  and  questions,  our  guesses, 
inferences,  explanations,  our  most  subtle  allusions  and 
insinuations,  even  the  odious  paintings  themselves, 
were  without  definite  result.     Nothing  had  happened. 

VI 

And  instinctively,  once  alone,  I  made  for  the 
places  where  she  had  painted  her  extraordinary 
pictures  ;  I  tried  to  see  what  she  had  seen.  Per- 
haps, now  that  she  had  opened  my  mind  to  another 
view,  I  should  be  sensitive  to  some  similar  interpre- 
tation— and  possibly  by  way  of  literary  expression.  If 
I  were  to  write  about  the  place,  I  asked  myself,  how 
should  I  treat  it?  I  deliberately  invited  an  inter- 
pretation in  the  way  that  came  easiest  to  me — 
writing. 

But  in  this  case  there  came  no  such  revelation. 
Looking  closely  at  the  trees  and  flowers,  the  bits  of 

N 


178  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

lawn  and  terrace,  the  rose-garden  and  corner  of  the 
house  where  the  flaming  creeper  hung  so  thickly,  I 
discovered  nothing  of  the  odious,  unpure  thing  her 
colour  and  grouping  had  unconsciously  revealed. 
At  first,  that  is,  I  discovered  nothing.  The  reality 
stood  there,  commonplace  and  ugly,  side  by  side  with 
her  distorted  version  of  it  that  lay  in  my  mind.  It 
seemed  incredible.  I  tried  to  force  it,  but  in  vain. 
My  imagination,  ploughed  less  deeply  than  hers,  or 
to  another  pattern,  grew  different  seed.  Where  I 
saw  the  gross  soul  of  an  overgrown  suburban  garden, 
inspired  by  the  spirit  of  a  vulgar,  rich  revivalist  who 
loved  to  preach  damnation,  she  saw  this  rush  of 
pagan  liberty  and  joy,  this  strange  licence  of  primi- 
tive flesh  which,  tainted  by  the  other,  produced  the 
adulterated,  vile  result. 

Certain  things,  however,  gradually  then  became 
apparent,  forcing  themselves  upon  me,  willy  nilly. 
They  came  slowly,  but  overwhelmingly.  Not  that 
facts  had  changed,  or  natural  details  altered  in  the 
grounds — this  was  impossible — but  that  I  noticed 
for  the  first  time  various  aspects  I  had  not  noticed 
before — trivial  enough,  yet  for  me,  just  then,  sig- 
nificant. Some  I  remembered  from  previous  days  ; 
others  I  saw  now  as  I  wandered  to  and  fro,  uneasy, 
uncomfortable, — almost,  it  seemed,  watched  by  some 
one  who  took  note  of  my  impressions.  The  details 
were  so  foolish,  the  total  result  so  formidable.  I  was 
half  aware  that  others  tried  hard  to  make  me  see. 
It  was  deliberate.  My  sister's  phrase,  'one  layer 
got  at  me,  another  gets  at  you,'  flashed,  undesired, 

upon  me. 

For  I  saw,  as  with  the  eyes  of  a  child,  what  I  can 
only  call  a  goblin  garden — house,  grounds,  trees, 
and  flowers  belonged  to  a  goblin  world  that  children 


THE  DAMNED  179 

enter  through  the  pages  of  their  fairy  tales.  And 
what  made  me  first  aware  of  it  was  the  whisper  of 
the  wind  behind  me,  so  that  I  turned  with  a  sudden 
start,  feeling  that  something  had  moved  closer.  An 
old  ash  tree,  ugly  and  ungainly,  had  been  artificially 
trained  to  form  an  arbour  at  one  end  of  the  terrace 
that  was  a  tennis  lawn,  and  the  leaves  of  it  now  went 
rustling  together,  swishing  as  they  rose  and  fell.  I 
looked  at  the  ash  tree,  and  felt  as  though  I  had 
passed  that  moment  between  doors  into  this  goblin 
garden  that  crouched  behind  the  real  one.  Below, 
at  a  deeper  layer  perhaps,  lay  hidden  the  one  my 
sister  had  entered. 

To  deal  with  my  own,  however,  I  call  it  goblin, 
because  an  odd  aspect  of  the  quaint  in  it  yet  never 
quite  achieved  the  picturesque.  Grotesque,  prob- 
ably, is  the  truer  word,  for  everywhere  I  noticed, 
and  for  the  first  time,  this  slight  alteration  of  the 
natural  due  either  to  the  exaggeration  of  some  detail, 
or  to  its  suppression,  generally,  I  think,  to  the  latter. 
Life  everywhere  appeared  to  me  as  blocked  from  the 
full  delivery  of  its  sweet  and  lovely  message.  Some 
counter  influence  stopped  it — suppression  ;  or  sent 
it  awry — exaggeration.  The  house  itself,  mere  ex- 
pression, of  course,  of  a  narrow,  limited  mind,  was 
sheer  ugliness  ;  it  required  no  further  explanation. 
With  the  grounds  and  garden,  so  far  as  shape  and 
general  plan  were  concerned,  this  was  also  true ;  but 
that  trees  and  flowers  and  other  natural  details 
should  share  the  same  deficiency  perplexed  my 
logical  soul,  and  even  dismayed  it.  I  stood  and 
stared,  then  moved  about,  and  stood  and  stared 
again.  Everywhere  was  this  mockery  of  a  sinister, 
unfinished  aspect.  I  sought  in  vain  to  recover  my 
normal   point  of  view.      My   mind  had  found  this 


i  So         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

goblin  garden  and  wandered  to  and  fro  in  it,  unable 
to  escape. 

The  change  was  in  myself,  of  course,  and  so 
trivial  were  the  details  which  illustrated  it,  that  they 
sound  absurd,  thus  mentioned  one  by  one.  For  me, 
they  proved  it,  is  all  I  can  affirm.  The  goblin  touch 
lay  plainly  everywhere  :  in  the  forms  of  the  trees, 
planted  at  neat  intervals  along  the  lawns  ;  in  this 
twisted  ash  that  rustled  just  behind  me  ;  in  the 
shadow  of  the  gloomy  wellingtonias,  whose  sweep- 
ing skirts  obscured  the  grass  ;  but  especially,  I 
noticed,  in  the  tops  and  crests  of  them.  For  here, 
the  delicate,  graceful  curves  of  last  year's  growth 
seemed  to  shrink  back  into  themselves.  None  of 
them  pointed  upwards.  Their  life  had  failed  and 
turned  aside  just  when  it  should  have  become  trium- 
phant. The  character  of  a  tree  reveals  itself  chiefly 
at  the  extremities,  and  it  was  precisely  here  that  they 
all  drooped  and  achieved  this  hint  of  goblin  dis- 
tortion— in  the  growth,  that  is,  of  the  last  few  years. 
What  ought  to  have  been  fairy,  joyful,  natural,  was 
instead  uncomely  to  the  verge  of  the  grotesque. 
Spontaneous  expression  was  arrested.  My  mind 
perceived  a  goblin  garden,  and  was  caught  in  it. 
The  place  grimaced  at  me. 

With  the  flowers  it  was  similar,  though  far  more 
difficult  to  detect  in  detail  for  description.  I  saw  the 
smaller  vegetable  growth  as  impish,  half-malicious. 
Even  the  terraces  sloped  ill,  as  though  their  ends  had 
sagged  since  they  had  been  so  lavishly  constructed  ; 
their  varying  angles  gave  a  queerly  bewildering  aspect 
to  their  sequence  that  was  unpleasant  to  the  eye. 
One  might  wander  among  their  deceptive  lengths 
and  get  lost — lost  among  open  terraces  ! — with  the 
house  quite  close  at  hand.      Unhomely  seemed   the 


THE  DAMNED  181 

entire  garden,  unable  to  give  repose,  restlessness  in 
it  everywhere,  almost  strife,  and  discord  certainly. 

Moreover,  the  garden  grew  into  the  house,  the 
house  into  the  garden,  and  in  both  was  this  idea 
of  resistance  to  the  natural — the  spirit  that  says  No 
to  joy.  All  over  it  I  was  aware  of  the  effort  to 
achieve  another  end,  the  struggle  to  burst  forth  and 
escape  into  free,  spontaneous  expression  that  should 
be  happy  and  natural,  yet  the  effort  for  ever  frus- 
trated by  the  weight  of  this  dark  shadow  that 
rendered  it  abortive.  Life  crawled  aside  into  a 
channel  that  was  a  cul-de-sac,  then  turned  horribly 
upon  itself.  Instead  of  blossom  and  fruit,  there 
were  weeds.  This  approach  of  life  I  was  conscious 
of — then  dismal  failure.  There  was  no  fulfilment. 
Nothing  happened. 

And  so,  through  this  singular  mood,  I  came  a 
little  nearer  to  understand  the  unpure  thing  that 
had  stammered  out  into  expression  through  my 
sister's  talent.  For  the  unpure  is  merely  negative  ; 
it  has  no  existence ;  it  is  but  the  cramped  expression 
of  what  is  true,  stammering  its  way  brokenly  over 
false  boundaries  that  seek  to  limit  and  confine.  Great, 
full  expression  of  anything  is  pure,  whereas  here  was 
only  the  incomplete,  unfinished,  and  therefore  ugly. 
There  was  strife  and  pain  and  desire  to  escape.  I 
found  myself  shrinking  from  house  and  grounds  as 
one  shrinks  from  the  touch  of  the  mentally  arrested, 
those  in  whom  life  has  turned  awry.  There  was 
almost  mutilation  in  it. 

Past  items,  too,  now  flocked  to  confirm  this  feel- 
ing that  I  walked,  liberty  captured  and  half-maimed, 
in  a  monstrous  garden.  I  remembered  days  of  rain 
that  refreshed  the  countryside,  but  left  these  grounds, 
cracked  with  the  summer  heat,  unsatisfied  and  thirsty  ; 


1 82  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

and  how  the  big  winds,  that  cleaned  the  woods  and 
fields  elsewhere,  crawled  here  with  difficulty  through 
the  dense  foliage  that  protected  The  Towers  from  the 
North  and  West  and  East.     They  were  ineffective, 
sluggish  currents.    There  was  no  real  wind.    Nothing 
happened.     I  began  to  realise — far  more  clearly  than 
in  my  sister's  fanciful  explanation  about  '  layers ' — 
that    here  were    many  contrary  influences  at  work, 
mutually  destructive  of  one  another.      House  and 
grounds  were   not   haunted  merely  ;    they  were  the 
arena  of  past  thinking  and  feeling,  perhaps  of  terrible, 
impure  beliefs,  each  striving  to  suppress  the  others, 
yet  no  one  of  them  achieving  supremacy  because  no 
one  of  them  was  strong  enough,  no  one  of  them  was 
true.     Each,  moreover,  tried  to  win  me  over,  though 
only  one  was  able  to  reach  my  mind  at  all.     For  some 
obscure   reason — possibly  because   my   temperament 
had  a   natural   bias   towards   the  grotesque — it  was 
the  goblin  layer.     With  me,  it  was  the  line  of  least 
resistance.   .  .  . 

In  my  own  thoughts  this  'goblin  garden'  revealed, 
of  course,  merely  my  personal  interpretation.  I 
felt  now  objectively  what  long  ago  my  mind  had 
felt  subjectively.  My  work,  essential  sign  of  spon- 
taneous life  with  me,  had  stopped  dead ;  production 
had  become  impossible.  I  stood  now  considerably 
closer  to  the  cause  of  this  sterility.  The  Cause, 
rather,  turned  bolder,  had  stepped  insolently  nearer. 
Nothing  happened  anywhere  ;  house,  garden,  mind 
alike  were  barren,  abortive,  torn  by  the  strife  of 
frustrate  impulse,  ugly,  hateful,  sinful.  Yet  behind 
it  all  was  still  the  desire  of  life — desire  to  escape — 
accomplish.  Hope — an  intolerable  hope — I  became 
startlingly  aware — crowned  torture. 

And,  realising  this,  though  in   some  part  of  me 


THE  DAMNED  183 

where  Reason  lost  her  hold,  there  rose  upon  me 
then  another  and  a  darker  thing  that  caught  me 
by  the  throat  and  made  me  shrink  with  a  sense 
of  revulsion  that  touched  actual  loathing.  I  knew 
instantly  whence  it  came,  this  wave  of  abhorrence 
and  disgust,  for  even  while  I  saw  red  and  felt  revolt 
rise  in  me,  it  seemed  that  I  grew  partially  aware  of 
the  layer  next  below  the  goblin.  I  perceived  the 
existence  of  this  deeper  stratum.  One  opened  the 
way  for  the  other,  as  it  were.  There  were  so  many, 
yet  all  inter-related  ;  to  admit  one  was  to  clear  the 
way  for  all.  If  I  lingered  I  should  be  caught — 
horribly.  They  struggled  with  such  violence  for 
supremacy  among  themselves,  however,  that  this 
latest  uprising  was  instantly  smothered  and  crushed 
back,  though  not  before  a  glimpse  had  been  revealed 
to  me,  and  the  redness  in  my  thoughts  transferred 
itself  to  colour  my  surroundings  thickly  and  appal- 
lingly— with  blood.  This  lurid  aspect  drenched  the 
garden,  smeared  the  terraces,  lent  to  the  very  soil  a 
tinge  as  of  sacrificial  rites,  that  choked  the  breath  in 
me,  while  it  seemed  to  fix  me  to  the  earth  my  feet  so 
longed  to  leave.  It  was  so  revolting  that  at  the 
same  time  I  felt  a  dreadful  curiosity  as  of  fascination 
— I  wished  to  stay.  Between  these  contrary  impulses 
I  think  I  actually  reeled  a  moment,  transfixed  by  a 
fascination  of  the  Awful.  Through  the  lighter  goblin 
veil  I  felt  myself  sinking  down,  down,  down  into  this 
turgid  layer  that  was  so  much  more  violent  and  so 
much  more  ancient.  The  upper  layer,  indeed, 
seemed  fairy  by  comparison  with  this  terror  born  of 
the  lust  for  blood,  thick  with  the  anguish  of  human 
sacrificial  victims. 

Upper !     Then   I  was   already  sinking  ;   my  feet 
were  caught  ;  I  was  actually  in  it  !     What  atavistic 


184         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

strain,  hidden  deep  within  me,  had  been  touched  into 
vile  response,  giving  this  flash  of  intuitive  compre- 
hension, 1  cannot  say.  The  coatings  laid  on  by 
civilisation  are  probably  thin  enough  in  all  of  us. 
I  made  a  supreme  effort.  The  sun  and  wind  came 
back.  I  could  almost  swear  I  opened  my  eyes. 
Something  very  atrocious  surged  back  into  the  depths, 
carrying  with  it  a  thought  of  tangled  woods,  of  big 
stones  standing  in  a  circle,  motionless  white  figures, 
the  one  form  bound  with  ropes,  and  the  ghastly  gleam 
of  the  knife.  Like  smoke  upon  a  battlefield,  it  rolled 
away.   .   .   . 

I  was  standing  on  the  gravel  path  below  the  second 
terrace  when  the  familiar  goblin  garden  danced  back 
again,  doubly  grotesque  now,  doubly  mocking,  yet, 
by  way  of  contrast,  almost  welcome.  My  glimpse 
into  the  depths  was  momentary,  it  seems,  and  had 
passed  utterly  away.  The  common  world  rushed 
back  with  a  sense  of  glad  relief,  yet  ominous  now 
for  ever,  I  felt,  for  the  knowledge  of  what  its  past 
had  built  upon.  In  street,  in  theatre,  in  the  festivi- 
ties of  friends,  in  music-room  or  playing-field,  even 
indeed  in  church — how  could  the  memory  of  what  I 
had  seen  and  felt  not  leave  its  hideous  trace  ?  The 
very  structure  of  my  Thought,  it  seemed  to  me,  was 
stained.  What  has  been  thought  by  others  can  never 
be  obliterated  until  .   .  . 

With  a  start  my  reverie  broke  and  fled,  scattered 
by  a  violent  sound  that  I  recognised  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life  as  wholly  desirable.  The  returning 
motor  meant  that  my  hostess  was  back.  Yet,  so 
urgent  had  been  my  temporary  obsession,  that  my 
first  presentation  of  her  was — well,  not  as  I  knew 
her  now.  Floating  along  with  a  face  of  anguished 
torture    I    saw   Mabel,   a    mere    effigy   captured    by 


THE  DAMNED  185 

others'  thinking,  pass  down  into  those  depths  of 
fire  and  blood  that  only  just  had  closed  beneath  my 
feet.  She  dipped  away.  She  vanished,  her  fading 
eyes  turned  to  the  last  towards  some  saviour  who 
had  failed  her.  And  that  strange  intolerable  hope 
was  in  her  face. 

The  mystery  of  the  place  was  pretty  thick  about 
me  just  then.  It  was  the  fall  of  dusk,  and  the  ghost 
of  slanting  sunshine  was  as  unreal  as  though  badly 
painted.  The  garden  stood  at  attention  all  about 
me.  I  cannot  explain  it,  but  I  can  tell  it,  I  think, 
exactly  as  it  happened,  for  it  remains  vivid  in  me 
for  ever — that,  for  the  first  time,  something  almost 
happened,  myself  apparently  the  combining  link 
through  which  it  pressed  towards  delivery : 

I  had  already  turned  towards  the  house.  In  my 
mind  were  pictures — not  actual  thoughts — of  the 
motor,  tea  on  the  verandah,  my  sister,  Mabel — when 
there  came  behind  me  this  tumultuous,  awful  rush — as 
I  left  the  garden.  The  ugliness,  the  pain,  the  striving 
to  escape,  the  whole  negative  and  suppressed  agony 
that  was  the  Place,  focused  that  second  into  a  con- 
centrated effort  to  produce  a  result.  It  was  a  blind- 
ing tempest  of  long-frustrate  desire  that  heaved  at 
me,  surging  appallingly  behind  me  like  an  anguished 
mob.  I  was  in  the  act  of  crossing  the  frontier  into 
my  normal  self  again,  when  it  came,  catching  fearfully 
at  my  skirts.  I  might  use  an  entire  dictionary  of 
descriptive  adjectives  yet  come  no  nearer  to  it  than 
this — the  conception  of  a  huge  assemblage  determined 
to  escape  with  me,  or  to  snatch  me  back  among 
themselves.  My  legs  trembled  for  an  instant,  and  I 
caught  my  breath — then  turned  and  ran  as  fast  as 
possible  up  the  ugly  terraces. 

At  the  same  instant,  as  though  the  clanging  of  an 


1 86  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

iron  gate  cut  short  the  unfinished  phrase,  I  thought 
the  beginning  of  an  awful  thing  : 

'  The  Damned  .   .  .' 

Like   this   it   rushed   after  me   from  that  goblin 
garden  that  had  sought  to  keep  me  : 

*  The  Damned  ! ' 

For  there  was  sound  in  it.  I  know  full  well  it 
was  subjective,  not  actually  heard  at  all  ;  yet  some- 
how sound  was  in  it — a  great  volume,  roaring  and 
booming  thunderously,  far  away,  and  below  me. 
The  sentence  dipped  back  into  the  depths  that  gave 
it  birth,  unfinished.  Its  completion  was  prevented. 
As  usual,  nothing  happened.  But  it  drove  behind 
me  like  a  hurricane  as  1  ran  towards  the  house,  and 
the  sound  of  it  I  can  only  liken  to  those  terrible 
undertones  you  may  hear  standing  beside  Niagara. 
They  lie  behind  the  mere  crash  of  the  falling  flood, 
within  it  somehow,  not  audible  to  all — felt  rather 
than  definitely  heard. 

It  seemed  to  echo  back  from  the  surface  of  those 
sagging  terraces  as  I  flew  across  their  sloping  ends, 
for  it  was  somehow  underneath  them.  It  was  in  the 
rustle  of  the  wind  that  stirred  the  skirts  of  the 
drooping  wellingtonias.  The  beds  of  formal  flowers 
passed  it  on  to  the  creepers,  red  as  blood,  that  crept 
over  the  unsightly  building.  Into  the  structure  of 
the  vulgar  and  forbidding  house  it  sank  away  ;  The 
Towers  took  it  home.  The  uncomely  doors  and 
windows  seemed  almost  like  mouths  that  had  uttered 
the  words  themselves,  and  on  the  upper  floors  at  that 
very  moment  I  saw  two  maids  in  the  act  of  closing 
them  again. 

And  on  the  verandah,  as  I  arrived  breathless,  and 
shaken  in  my  soul,  Frances  and  Mabel,  standing  by 
the  tea-table,  looked  up  to  greet  me.     In  the  faces  of 


THE  DAMNED  187 

both  were  clearly  legible  the  signs  of  shock.  They 
watched  me  coming,  yet  so  full  of  their  own  distress 
that  they  hardly  noticed  the  state  in  which  I  came. 
In  the  face  of  my  hostess,  however,  I  read  another 
and  a  bigger  thing  than  in  the  face  of  Frances. 
Mabel  knew.  She  had  experienced  what  I  had 
experienced.  She  had  heard  that  awful  sentence  I 
had  heard,  but  heard  it  not  for  the  first  time  ;  heard 
it,  moreover,  I  verily  believe,  complete  and  to  its 
dreadful  end. 

*  Bill,  did  you  hear  that  curious  noise  just  now?  ' 
Frances  asked  it  sharply  before  I  could  say  a  word. 
Her  manner  was  confused  ;  she  looked  straight  at 
me  ;  and  there  was  a  tremor  in  her  voice,  she  could 
not  hide. 

'  There's  wind  about,'  I  said,  '  wind  in  the  trees 
and  sweeping  round  the  walls.  It's  risen  rather 
suddenly.'     My  voice  faltered  rather. 

'  No.  It  wasn't  wind,'  she  insisted,  with  a  signifi- 
cance meant  for  me  alone,  but  badly  hidden.  *  It 
was  more  like  distant  thunder,  we  thought.  How 
you  ran  too  ! '  she  added.  '  What  a  pace  you  came 
across  the  terraces  ! ' 

I  knew  instantly  from  the  way  she  said  it  that 
they  both  had  already  heard  the  sound  before  and 
were  anxious  to  know  if  I  had  heard  it,  and  how. 
My  interpretation  was  what  they  sought. 

'  It  was  a  curiously  deep  sound,  I  admit.  It  may 
have  been  big  guns  at  sea,'  I  suggested,  l  forts  or 
cruisers  practising.  The  coast  isn't  so  very  far,  and 
with  the  wind  in  the  right  direction ' 

The  expression  on  Mabel's  face  stopped  me 
dead. 

'  Like  huge  doors  closing,'  she  said  softly  in 
her  colourless  voice,  '  enormous  metal  doors  shutting 


1 88  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

against  a  mass  of  people  clamouring  to  get  out.'  The 
gravity,  the  note  of  hopelessness  in  her  tones,  was 
shocking. 

Frances  had  gone  into  the  house  the  instant  Mabel 
began  to  speak.  '  I'm  cold,'  she  had  said  ;  '  I  think 
I'll  get  a  shawl.'  Mabel  and  I  were  alone.  I  believe 
it  was  the  first  time  we  had  been  really  alone  since  I 
arrived.  She  looked  up  from  the  teacups,  fixing 
her  pallid  eyes  on  mine.  She  had  made  a  question 
of  the  sentence. 

*  You  hear  it  like  that  ?  '  I  asked  innocently.  I 
purposely  used  the  present  tense. 

She  changed  her  stare  from  one  eye  to  the  other  ; 
it  was  absolutely  expressionless.  My  sister's  step 
sounded  on  the  floor  of  the  room  behind  us. 

'  If  only '   Mabel   began,   then   stopped,  and 

my  own  feelings  leaping  out  instinctively  completed 
the  sentence  I  felt  was  in  her  mind  : 

' something  would  happen.' 

She  instantly  corrected  me.  I  had  caught  her 
thought,  yet  somehow  phrased  it  wrongly. 

'  We  could  escape  !  '  She  lowered  her  tone  a 
little,  saying  it  hurriedly.  The  '  we '  amazed  and 
horrified  me  ;  but  something  in  her  voice  and  manner 
struck  me  utterly  dumb.  There  was  ice  and  terror 
in  it.  It  was  a  dying  woman  speaking — a  lost  and 
hopeless  soul. 

In  that  atrocious  moment  I  hardly  noticed  what 
was  said  exactly,  but  I  remember  that  my  sister 
returned  with  a  grey  shawl  about  her  shoulders,  and 
that  Mabel  said,  in  her  ordinary  voice  again,  '  It  is 
chilly,  yes  ;  let's  have  tea  inside,'  and  that  two  maids, 
one  of  them  the  grenadier,  speedily  carried  the  loaded 
trays  into  the  morning-room  and  put  a  match  to  the 
logs  in  the  great  open  fireplace.      It  was,  after  all, 


THE  DAMNED  189 

foolish  to  risk  the  sharp  evening  air,  for  dusk  was 
falling  steadily,  and  even  the  sunshine  of  the  day 
just  fading  could  not  turn  autumn  into  summer.  I 
was  the  last  to  come  in.  Just  as  I  left  the  verandah 
a  large  black  bird  swooped  down  in  front  of  me  past 
the  pillars  ;  it  dropped  from  overhead,  swerved 
abruptly  to  one  side  as  it  caught  sight  of  me,  and 
flapped  heavily  towards  the  shrubberies  on  the  left 
of  the  terraces,  where  it  disappeared  into  the  gloom. 
It  flew  very  low,  very  close.  And  it  startled  me,  I 
think  because  in  some  way  it  seemed  like  my  Shadow 
materialised — as  though  the  dark  horror  that  was 
rising  everywhere  from  house  and  garden,  then 
settling  back  so  thickly  yet  so  imperceptibly  upon 
us  all,  were  incarnated  in  that  whirring  creature 
that  passed  between  the  daylight  and  the  coming 
night. 

I  stood  a  moment,  wondering  if  it  would  appear 
again,  before  I  followed  the  others  indoors,  and  as  I 
was  in  the  act  of  closing  the  windows  after  me,  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  figure  on  the  lawn.  It  was 
some  distance  away,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
shrubberies,  in  fact  where  the  bird  had  vanished.  But 
in  spite  of  the  twilight  that  half  magnified,  half 
obscured  it,  the  identity  was  unmistakable.  I  knew 
the  housekeeper's  stiff"  walk  too  well  to  be  deceived. 
'  Mrs.  Marsh  taking  the  air,'  I  said  to  myself.  I  felt 
the  necessity  of  saying  it,  and  I  wondered  why  she 
was  doing  so  at  this  particular  hour.  If  I  had  other 
thoughts  they  were  so  vague,  and  so  quickly  and 
utterly  suppressed,  that  I  cannot  recall  them  suffi- 
ciently to  relate  them  here. 

And,  once  indoors,  it  was  to  be  expected  that  there 
would  come  explanation,  discussion,  conversation,  at 
any  rate,  regarding  the  singular  noise  and  its  cause, 


190         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

some  uttered  evidence  of  the  mood  that  had  been 
strong  enough  to  drive  us  all  inside.  Yet  there  was 
none.  Each  of  us  purposely,  and  with  various  skill, 
ignored  it.  We  talked  little,  and  when  we  did  it 
was  of  anything  in  the  world  but  that.  Personally,  I 
experienced  a  touch  of  that  same  bewilderment  which 
had  come  over  me  during  my  first  talk  with  Frances 
on  the  evening  of  my  arrival,  for  I  recall  now  the 
acute  tension,  and  the  hope,  yet  dread,  that  one  or 
other  of  us  must  sooner  or  later  introduce  the  subject. 
It  did  not  happen,  however  ;  no  reference  was  made 
to  it  even  remotely.  It  was  the  presence  of  Mabel, 
I  felt  positive,  that  prohibited.  As  soon  might  we 
have  discussed  Death  in  the  bedroom  of  a  dying 
woman. 

The  only  scrap  of  conversation  I  remember,  where 
all  was  ordinary  and  commonplace,  was  when  Mabel 
spoke  casually  to  the  grenadier  asking  why  Mrs. 
Marsh  had  omitted  to  do  something  or  other — what 
it  was  I  forget — and  that  the  maid  replied  respect- 
fully that  '  Mrs.  Marsh  was  very  sorry,  but  her  'and 
still  pained  her.'  I  enquired,  though  so  casually  that 
I  scarcely  know  what  prompted  the  words,  whether 
she  had  injured  herself  severely,  and  the  reply,  '  She 
upset  a  lamp  and  burnt  herself,'  was  said  in  a  tone 
that  made  me  feel  my  curiosity  was  indiscreet,  '  but 
she  always  has  an  excuse  for  not  doing  things  she 
ought  to  do.'  The  little  bit  of  conversation  remained 
with  me,  and  I  remember  particularly  the  quick  way 
Frances  interrupted  and  turned  the  talk  upon  the 
delinquencies  of  servants  in  general,  telling  incidents 
of  her  own  at  our  flat  with  a  volubility  that  perhaps 
seemed  forced,  and  that  certainly  did  not  encourage 
general  talk  as  it  may  have  been  intended  to  do. 
We  lapsed  into  silence  immediately  she  finished. 


THE  DAMNED  191 

But  for  all  our  care  and  all  our  calculated  silence, 
each  knew  that  something  had,  in  these  last  moments, 
come  very  close  ;  it  had  brushed  us  in  passing  ;  it 
had  retired  ;  and  I  am  inclined  to  think  now  that  the 
large  dark  thing  I  saw,  riding  the  dusk,  probably  bird 
of  prey,  was  in  some  sense  a  symbol  of  it  in  my  mind 
— that  actually  there  had  been  no  bird  at  all,  1  mean, 
but  that  my  mood  of  apprehension  and  dismay  had 
formed  the  vivid  picture  in  my  thoughts.  It  had 
swept  past  us,  it  had  retreated,  but  it  was  now,  at  this 
moment,  in  hiding  very  close.   And  it  was  watching  us. 

Perhaps,  too,  it  was  mere  coincidence  that  I 
encountered  Mrs.  Marsh,  his  housekeeper,  several 
times  that  evening  in  the  short  interval  between  tea 
and  dinner,  and  that  on  each  occasion  the  sight  of 
this  gaunt,  half-saturnine  woman  fed  my  prejudice 
against  her.  Once,  on  my  way  to  the  telephone,  I 
ran  into  her  just  where  the  passage  is  somewhat 
jammed  by  a  square  table  carrying  the  Chinese  gong, 
a  grandfather's  clock  and  a  box  of  croquet  mallets. 
We  both  gave  way,  then  both  advanced,  then  again 
gave  way — simultaneously.  It  seemed  impossible  to 
pass.  We  stepped  with  decision  to  the  same  side, 
finally  colliding  in  the  middle,  while  saying  those 
futile  little  things,  half  apology,  half  excuse,  that  are 
inevitable  at  such  times.  In  the  end  she  stood  upright 
against  the  wall  for  me  to  pass,  taking  her  place 
against  the  very  door  I  wished  to  open.  It  was 
ludicrous. 

'  Excuse  me — I  was  just  going  in — to  telephone,' 
I  explained.  And  she  sidled  off,  murmuring  apolo- 
gies, but  opening  the  door  for  me  while  she  did  so. 
Our  hands  met  a  moment  on  the  handle.  There  was 
a  second's  awkwardness — it  was  so  stupid.     I  remem- 


1 92  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

bered  her  injury,  and  by  way  of  something  to  say,  I 
enquired  after  it.  She  thanked  me ;  it  was  entirely 
healed  now,  but  it  might  have  been  much  worse  ; 
and  there  was  something  about  the  '  mercy  of  the 
Lord  '  that  I  didn't  quite  catch.  While  telephoning, 
however — a  London  call,  and  my  attention  focused 
on  it — I  realised  sharply  that  this  was  the  first  time 
I  had  spoken  with  her  ;  also,  that  I  had — touched 
her. 

It  happened  to  be  a  Sunday,  and  the  lines  were 
clear.  I  got  my  connection  quickly,  and  the  inci- 
dent was  forgotten  while  my  thoughts  went  up  to 
London.  On  my  way  upstairs,  then,  the  woman 
came  back  into  my  mind,  so  that  I  recalled  other 
things  about  her — how  she  seemed  all  over  the  house, 
in  unlikely  places  often  ;  how  I  had  caught  her 
sitting  in  the  hall  alone  that  night  ;  how  she  was  for 
ever  coming  and  going  with  her  lugubrious  visage  and 
that  untidy  hair  at  the  back  that  had  made  me  laugh 
three  years  ago  with  the  idea  that  it  looked  singed  or 
burnt  ;  and  how  the  impression  on  my  first  arrival  at 
The  Towers  was  that  this  woman  somehow  kept  alive, 
though  its  evidence  was  outwardly  suppressed,  the  in- 
fluence of  her  late  employer  and  of  his  sombre  teach- 
ings. Somewhere  with  her  was  associated  the  idea  of 
punishment,  vindictiveness,  revenge.  I  remembered 
again  suddenly  my  odd  notion  that  she  sought  to  keep 
her  present  mistress  here,  a  prisoner  in  this  bleak  and 
comfortless  house,  and  that  really,  in  spite  of  her 
obsequious  silence,  she  was  intensely  opposed  to  the 
change  of  thought  that  had  reclaimed  Mabel  to  a 
happier  view  of  life. 

All  this  in  a  passing  second  flashed  in  review 
before  me,  and  I  discovered,  or  at  any  rate  recon- 
structed, the  real  Mrs.  Marsh.     She  was  decidedly  in 


THE  DAMNED  193 

the  Shadow.  More,  she  stood  in  the  forefront  of  it, 
stealthily  leading  an  assault,  as  it  were,  against  The 
Towers  and  its  occupants,  as  though,  consciously  or 
unconsciously,  she  laboured  incessantly  to  this  hateful 
end. 

I  can  only  judge  that  some  state  of  nervousness  in 
me  permitted  the  series  of  insignificant  thoughts  to 
assume  this  dramatic  shape,  and  that  what  had  gone 
before  prepared  the  way  and  led  her  up  at  the  head 
of  so  formidable  a  procession.  I  relate  it  exactly 
as  it  came  to  me.  My  nerves  were  doubtless  some- 
what on  edge  by  now.  Otherwise  I  should  hardly 
have  been  a  prey  to  the  exaggeration  at  all.  I  seemed 
open  to  so  many  strange  impressions. 

Nothing  else,  perhaps,  can  explain  my  ridiculous 
conversation  with  her,  when,  for  the  third  time  that 
evening,  I  came  suddenly  upon  the  woman  half-way 
down  the  stairs,  standing  by  an  open  window  as  if  in 
the  act  of  listening.  She  was  dressed  in  black,  a  black 
shawl  over  her  square  shoulders  and  black  gloves  on 
her  big,  broad  hands.  Two  black  objects,  prayer- 
books  apparently,  she  clasped,  and  on  her  head  she 
wore  a  bonnet  with  shaking  beads  of  jet.  At  first  I 
did  not  know  her,  as  I  came  running  down  upon  her 
from  the  landing  ;  it  was  only  when  she  stood  aside 
to  let  me  pass  that  I  saw  her  profile  against  the 
tapestry  and  recognised  Mrs.  Marsh.  And  to  catch 
her  on  the  front  stairs,  dressed  like  this,  struck 
me  as  incongruous — impertinent.  I  paused  in  my 
dangerous  descent.  Through  the  opened  window 
came  the  sound  of  bells — church  bells — a  sound  more 
depressing  to  me  than  superstition,  and  as  nauseating. 
Though  the  action  was  ill-judged,  I  obeyed  the  sudden 
prompting — was  it  a  secret  desire  to  attack,  perhaps  ? 
— and  spoke  to  her. 

o 


i94         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

'  Been  to  church,  I  suppose,  Mrs.  Marsh  ? '  I  said. 
'  Or  just  going,  perhaps  ?  ' 

Her  face,  as  she  looked  up  a  second  to  reply,  was 
like  an  iron  doll  that  moved  its  lips  and  turned  its 
eyes,  but  made  no  other  imitation  of  life  at  all. 

'  Some  of  us  still  goes,  sir,'  she  said  unctuously. 

It  was  respectful  enough,  yet  the  implied  judg- 
ment of  the  rest  of  the  world  made  me  almost 
angry.  A  deferential  insolence  lay  behind  the  affected 
meekness. 

'  For  those  who  believe  no  doubt  it  is  helpful,'  I 
smiled.  '  True  religion  brings  peace  and  happiness, 
I'm  sure — joy,  Mrs.  Marsh,  joy  ! '  I  found  keen 
satisfaction  in  the  emphasis. 

She  looked  at  me  like  a  knife.  I  cannot  describe 
the  implacable  thing  that  shone  in  her  fixed,  stern 
eyes,  nor  the  shadow  of  felt  darkness  that  stole  across 
her  face.  She  glittered.  I  felt  hate  in  her.  I  knew 
— she  knew  too — who  was  in  the  thoughts  of  us 
both  at  that  moment. 

She  replied  softly,  never  forgetting  her  place  for 
an  instant : 

'  There  is  joy,  sir — in  'eaven — over  one  sinner 
that  repenteth,  and  in  church  there  goes  up  prayer 
to  Gawd  for   those  'oo — well,  for  the   others,   sir, 
oo 

She  cut  short  her  sentence  thus.  The  gloom  about 
her  as  she  said  it  was  like  the  gloom  about  a  hearse, 
a  tomb,  a  darkness  of  great  hopeless  dungeons. 
My  tongue  ran  on  of  itself  with  a  kind  of  bitter 
satisfaction  : 

'  We  must  believe  there  are  no  others,  Mrs.  Marsh. 
Salvation,  you  know,  would  be  such  a  failure  if  there 
were.  No  merciful,  all-foreseeing  God  could  ever 
have  devised  such  a  fearful  plan ' 


THE  DAMNED  195 

Her  voice,  interrupting  me,  seemed  to  rise  out 
of  the  bowels  of  the  earth  : 

'  They  rejected  the  salvation  when  it  was  hoffered 
to  them,  sir,  on  earth.' 

1  But  you  wouldn't  have  them  tortured  for  ever 
because  of  one  mistake  in  ignorance,'  I  said,  fixing 
her  with  my  eye.  *  Come  now,  would  you,  Mrs. 
Marsh  ?  No  God  worth  worshipping  could  permit 
such  cruelty.     Think  a  moment  what  it  means.' 

She  stared  at  me,  a  curious  expression  in  her 
stupid  eyes.  It  seemed  to  me  as  though  the  Ionian  ' 
in  her  revolted,  while  yet  she  dared  not  suffer  her 
grim  belief  to  trip.  That  is,  she  would  willingly 
have  had  it  otherwise  but  for  a  terror  that  pre- 
vented. 

'  We  may  pray  for  them,  sir,  and  we  do — we  may 
'ope.'     She  dropped  her  eyes  to  the  carpet. 

'  Good,  good  ! '  I  put  in  cheerfully,  sorry  now  that 
I  had  spoken  at  all.  l  That's  more  hopeful,  at  any 
rate,  isn't  it  ? ' 

She  murmured  something  about  Abraham's  bosom, 
and  the  '  time  of  salvation  not  being  for  ever,'  as  I 
tried  to  pass  her.  Then  a  half  gesture  that  she  made 
stopped  me.  There  was  something  more  she  wished 
to  say — to  ask.  She  looked  up  furtively.  In  her 
eyes  I  saw  the  '  woman '  peering  out  through  fear. 

'Per'aps,  sir,'  she  faltered,  as  though  lightning 
must  strike  her  dead,  '  per'aps,  would  you  think, 
a  drop  of  cold  water,  given  in  His  name,  might 
moisten ? ' 

But  I  stopped  her,  for  the  foolish  talk  had  lasted 
long  enough. 

'  Of  course,'  I  exclaimed,  'of  course.  For  God  is 
love,  remember,  and  love  means  charity,  tolerance, 
sympathy,  and  sparing  others  pain,'  and    I   hurried 


i96         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

past  her,  determined  to  end  the  outrageous  con- 
versation for  which  yet  I  knew  myself  entirely  to 
blame.  Behind  me,  she  stood  stock-still  for  several 
minutes,  half  bewildered,  half  alarmed,  as  I  suspected. 
I  caught  the  fragment  of  another  sentence,  one  word 
of  it,  rather — '  punishment ' — but  the  rest  escaped 
me.  Her  arrogance  and  condescending  tolerance 
exasperated  me,  while  I  was  at  the  same  time  secretly 
pleased  that  I  might  have  touched  some  string  of 
remorse  or  sympathy  in  her  after  all.  Her  belief  was 
iron  ;  she  dared  not  let  it  go  ;  yet  somewhere  under- 
neath there  lurked  the  germ  of  a  wholesome  revulsion. 
She  would  help  '  them  ' — if  she  dared.  Her  question 
proved  it. 

Half  ashamed  of  myself,  I  turned  and  crossed  the 
hall  quickly  lest  I  should  be  tempted  to  say  more,  and 
in  me  was  a  disagreeable  sensation  as  though  I  had 
just  left  the  Incurable  Ward  of  some  great  hospital. 
A  reaction  caught  me  as  of  nausea.  Ugh  !  I  wanted 
such  people  cleansed  by  fire.  They  seemed  to  me 
as  centres  of  contamination  whose  vicious  thoughts 
flowed  out  to  stain  God's  glorious  world.  I  saw 
myself,  Frances,  Mabel  too  especially,  on  the  rack, 
while  that  odious  figure  of  cruelty  and  darkness  stood 
over  us  and  ordered  the  awful  handles  turned  in 
order  that  we  might  be  '  saved ' — forced,  that  is,  to 
think  and  believe  exactly  as  she  thought  and  believed. 

I  found  relief  for  my  somewhat  childish  indigna- 
tion by  letting  myself  loose  upon  the  organ  then. 
The  flood  of  Bach  and  Beethoven  brought  back 
the  sense  of  proportion.  It  proved,  however,  at 
the  same  time  that  there  had  been  this  growth  of 
distortion  in  me,  and  that  it  had  been  provided 
apparently  by  my  closer  contact  —  for  the  first 
time — with    that    funereal    personality,    the    woman 


THE  DAMNED  197 

who,  like  her  master,  believed  that  all  holding  views 
of  God  that  differed  from  her  own,  must  be  damned 
eternally.  It  gave  me,  moreover,  some  faint  clue 
perhaps,  though  a  clue  I  was  unequal  to  following  up, 
to  the  nature  of  the  strife  and  terror  and  frustrate 
influence  in  the  house.  That  housekeeper  had  to  do 
with  it.  She  kept  it  alive.  Her  thought  was  like  a 
spell  she  waved  above  her  mistress's  head. 

VII 

That  night  I  was  wakened  by  a  hurried  tapping 
at  my  door,  and  before  I  could  answer,  Frances 
stood  beside  my  bed.  She  had  switched  on  the 
light  as  she  came  in.  Her  hair  fell  straggling  over 
her  dressing-gown.  Her  face  was  deathly  pale,  its 
expression  so  distraught  it  was  almost  haggard. 
The  eyes  were  very  wide.  She  looked  almost  like 
another  woman. 

She  was  whispering  at  a  great  pace  :  '  Bill,  Bill, 
wake  up,  quick  !  ' 

'  I  am  awake.  What  is  it  ? '  I  whispered  too.  I 
was  startled. 

I  Listen  ! '  was  all  she  said.  Her  eyes  stared  into 
vacancy. 

There  was  not  a  sound  in  the  great  house.  The 
wind  had  dropped,  and  all  was  still.  Only  the  tapping 
seemed  to  continue  endlessly  in  my  brain.  The  clock 
on  the  mantelpiece  pointed  to  half-past  two. 

I I  heard  nothing,  Frances.  What  is  it  ?  '  I  rubbed 
my  eyes ;  I  had  been  very  deeply  asleep. 

'  Listen  ! '  she  repeated  very  softly,  holding  up  one 
finger  and  turning  her  eyes  towards  the  door  she  had 
left  ajar.  Her  usual  calmness  had  deserted  her.  She 
was  in  the  grip  of  some  distressing  terror. 


198  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

For  a  full  minute  we  held  our  breath  and  listened. 
Then  her  eyes  rolled  round  again  and  met  my  own, 
and  her  skin  went  even  whiter  than  before. 

*  It  woke  me,'  she  said  beneath  her  breath,  and 
moving  a  step  nearer  to  my  bed.  *  It  was  the  Noise.' 
Even  her  whisper  trembled. 

1  The  Noise  ! '  The  word  repeated  itself  dully  of 
its  own  accord.  I  would  rather  it  had  been  anything 
in  the  world  but  that — earthquake,  foreign  cannon, 
collapse  of  the  house  above  our  heads  !  *  The  noise, 
Frances  !  Are  you  sure  ? '  I  was  playing  really  for 
a  little  time. 

4  It  was  like  thunder.  At  first  I  thought  it  was 
thunder.  But  a  minute  later  it  came  again — from 
underground.  It's  appalling.'  She  muttered  the 
words,  her  voice  not  properly  under  control. 

There  was  a  pause  of  perhaps  a  minute,  and 
then  we  both  spoke  at  once.  We  said  foolish, 
obvious  things  that  neither  of  us  believed  in  for 
a  second.  The  roof  had  fallen  in,  there  were 
burglars  downstairs,  the  safes  had  been  blown 
open.  It  was  to  comfort  each  other  as  children 
do  that  we  said  these  things  ;  also  it  was  to  gain 
further  time. 

*  There's  some  one  in  the  house,  of  course,'  I  heard 
my  voice  say  finally,  as  I  sprang  out  of  bed  and 
hurried  into  dressing-gown  and  slippers.  '  Don't  be 
alarmed.  I'll  go  down  and  see,'  and  from  the  drawer 
I  took  a  pistol  it  was  my  habit  to  carry  everywhere 
with  me.  I  loaded  it  carefully  while  Frances  stood 
stock-still  beside  the  bed  and  watched.  I  moved 
towards  the  open  door. 

4  You  stay  here,  Frances,'  I  whispered,  the  beating 
of  my  heart  making  the  words  uneven,  *  while  I  go 
down   and   make  a  search.     Lock   yourself  in,  girl. 


THE  DAMNED  199 

Nothing  can  happen  to  you.  It  was  downstairs,  you 
said  ?  ' 

'  Underneath,'  she  answered  faintly,  pointing 
through  the  floor. 

She  moved  suddenly  between  me  and  the  door. 

'  Listen  !  Hark  ! '  she  said,  the  eyes  in  her  face 
quite  fixed  ;  '  it's  coming  again,'  and  she  turned  her 
head  to  catch  the  slightest  sound.  I  stood  there 
watching  her,  and  while  I  watched  her,  shook.  But 
nothing  stirred.  From  the  halls  below  rose  only  the 
whirr  and  quiet  ticking  of  the  numerous  clocks.  The 
blind  by  the  open  window  behind  us  flapped  out  a 
little  into  the  room  as  the  draught  caught  it. 

*  I'll  come  with  you,  Bill — to  the  next  floor,'  she 
broke  the  silence.  *  Then  I'll  stay  with  Mabel — till 
you  come  up  again.'  The  blind  sank  down  with  a 
long  sigh  as  she  said  it. 

The  question  jumped  to  my  lips  before  I  could 
repress  it  : 

*  Mabel  is  awake.     She  heard  it  too  ? ' 

I  hardly  know  why  horror  caught  me  at  her 
answer.  All  was  so  vague  and  terrible  as  we  stood 
there  playing  the  great  game  of  this  sinister  house 
where  nothing  ever  happened. 

'  We  met  in  the  passage.  She  was  on  her  way  to 
me.' 

What  shook  in  me,  shook  inwardly.  Frances,  I 
mean,  did  not  see  it.  I  had  the  feeling  just  then  that 
the  Noise  was  upon  us,  that  any  second  it  would  boom 
and  roar  about  our  ears.  But  the  deep  silence  held. 
I  only  heard  my  sister's  little  whisper  coming  across 
the  room  in  answer  to  my  question  : 

'  Then  what  is  Mabel  doing  now  ? ' 

And  her  reply  proved  that  she  was  yielding  at  last 
beneath  the  dreadful  tension,  for  she  spoke  at  once, 


200         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

unable  longer  to  keep  up  the  pretence.  With  a  kind 
of  relief,  as  it  were,  she  said  it  out,  looking  helplessly 
at  me  like  a  child  : 

'  She  is  weeping  and  gna ' 

My  expression  must  have  stopped  her.  I  believe 
I  clapped  both  hands  upon  her  mouth,  though  when 
I  realised  things  clearly  again,  I  found  they  were 
covering  my  own  ears  instead.  It  was  a  moment 
of  unutterable  horror.  The  revulsion  I  felt  was 
actually  physical.  It  would  have  given  me  pleasure 
to  fire  off  all  the  five  chambers  of  my  pistol  into  the 
air  above  my  head ;  the  sound — a  definite,  wholesome 
sound  that  explained  itself — would  have  been  a  posi- 
tive relief.  Other  feelings,  though,  were  in  me  too, 
all  over  me,  rushing  to  and  fro.  It  was  vain  to  seek 
their  disentanglement  ;  it  was  impossible.  I  confess 
that  I  experienced,  among  them,  a  touch  of  paralysing 
fear — though  for  a  moment  only ;  it  passed  as  sharply 
as  it  came,  leaving  me  with  a  violent  flush  of  blood 
to  the  face  such  as  bursts  of  anger  bring,  followed 
abruptly  by  an  icy  perspiration  over  the  entire  body. 
Yet  I  may  honestly  avow  that  it  was  not  ordinary 
personal  fear  I  felt,  nor  any  common  dread  of  physical 
injury.  It  was,  rather,  a  vast,  impersonal  shrinking 
— a  sympathetic  shrinking — from  the  agony  and 
terror  that  countless  others,  somewhere,  somehow, 
felt  for  themselves.  The  first  sensation  of  a  prison 
overwhelmed  me  in  that  instant,  of  bitter  strife  and 
frenzied  suffering,  and  the  fiery  torture  of  the  yearning 
to  escape  that  was  yet  hopelessly  uttered.  ...  It 
was  of  incredible  power.  It  was  real.  The  vain, 
intolerable  hope  swept  over  me. 

I  mastered  myself,  though  hardly  knowing  how, 
and  took  my  sister's  hand.  It  was  as  cold  as  ice,  as 
I  led  her  firmly  to  the  door  and  out  into  the  passage. 


THE  DAMNED  201 

Apparently  she  noticed  nothing  of  my  so  near  collapse, 
for  I  caught  her  whisper  as  we  went.  '  You  are 
brave,  Bill  ;  splendidly  brave.' 

The  upper  corridors  of  the  great  sleeping  house 
were  brightly  lit  ;  on  her  way  to  me  she  had  turned 
on  every  electric  switch  her  hand  could  reach  ;  and 
as  we  passed  the  final  flight  of  stairs  to  the  floor 
below,  I  heard  a  door  shut  softly  and  knew  that 
Mabel  had  been  listening — waiting  for  us.  I  led 
my  sister  up  to  it.  She  knocked,  and  the  door 
was  opened  cautiously  an  inch  or  so.  The  room 
was  pitch  black.  I  caught  no  glimpse  of  Mabel 
standing  there.  Frances  turned  to  me  with  a  hurried 
whisper, *  Billy,  you  will  be  careful,  won't  you  ? '  and 
went  in.  I  just  had  time  to  answer  that  I  would 
not  be  long,  and  Frances  to  reply,  '  You'll  find  us 

here '  when  the  door  closed  and  cut  her  sentence 

short  before  its  end. 

But  it  was  not  alone  the  closing  door  that  took 
the  final  words.  Frances — by  the  way  she  disappeared 
I  knew  it — had  made  a  swift  and  violent  movement 
into  the  darkness  that  was  as  though  she  sprang. 
She  leaped  upon  that  other  woman  who  stood  back 
among  the  shadows,  for,  simultaneously  with  the 
clipping  of  the  sentence,  another  sound  was  also 
stopped — stifled,  smothered,  choked  back  lest  I  should 
also  hear  it.  Yet  not  in  time.  I  heard  it — a  hard 
and  horrible  sound  that  explained  both  the  leap  and 
the  abrupt  cessation  of  the  whispered  words. 

I  stood  irresolute  a  moment.  It  was  as  though  all 
the  bones  had  been  withdrawn  from  my  body,  so  that 
I  must  sink  and  fall.  That  sound  plucked  them  out, 
and  plucked  out  my  self-possession  with  them.  I  am 
not  sure  that  it  was  a  sound  I  had  ever  heard  before, 


2o2  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

though  children,  I  half  remembered,  made  it  some- 
times in  blind  rages  when  they  knew  not  what  they 
did.  In  a  grown-up  person  certainly  I  had  never 
known  it.  I  associated  it  with  animals  rather — 
horribly.  In  the  history  of  the  world,  no  doubt,  it 
has  been  common  enough,  alas,  but  fortunately  to-day 
there  can  be  but  few  who  know  it,  or  would  recognise 
it  even  when  heard.  The  bones  shot  back  into  my 
body  the  same  instant,  but  red-hot  and  burning  ;  the 
brief  instant  of  irresolution  passed ;  I  was  torn 
between  the  desire  to  break  down  the  door  and 
enter,  and  to  run — run  for  my  life  from  a  thing  I 
dared  not  face. 

Out  of  the  horrid  tumult,  then,  I  adopted  neither 
course.  Without  reflection,  certainly  without  analysis 
of  what  was  best  to  do  for  my  sister,  myself  or  Mabel, 
I  took  up  my  action  where  it  had  been  interrupted. 
I  turned  from  the  awful  door  and  moved  slowly 
towards  the  head  of  the  stairs.  But  that  dreadful 
little  sound  came  with  me.  I  believe  my  own 
teeth  chattered.  It  seemed  all  over  the  house — in 
the  empty  halls  that  opened  into  the  long  passages 
towards  the  music-room,  and  even  in  the  grounds 
outside  the  building.  From  the  lawns  and  barren 
garden,  from  the  ugly  terraces  themselves,  it  rose  into 
the  night,  and  behind  it  came  a  curious  driving  sound, 
incomplete,  unfinished,  as  of  wailing  for  deliverance, 
the  wailing  of  desperate  souls  in  anguish,  the  dull  and 
dry  beseeching  of  hopeless  spirits  in  prison. 

That  I  could  have  taken  the  little  sound  from  the 
bedroom  where  I  actually  heard  it,  and  spread  it  thus 
over  the  entire  house  and  grounds,  is  evidence,  perhaps, 
of  the  state  my  nerves  were  in.  The  wailing  assuredly 
was  in  my  mind  alone.  But  the  longer  I  hesitated, 
the  more  difficult  became  my  task,  and,  gathering  up 


THE  DAMNED  203 

my  dressing-gown,  lest  I  should  trip  in  the  darkness, 
I  passed  slowly  down  the  staircase  into  the  hall  below. 
I  carried  neither  candle  nor  matches  ;  every  switch  in 
room  and  corridor  was  known  to  me.     The  covering 
of  darkness  was  indeed  rather  comforting  than  other- 
wise, for  if  it  prevented  seeing,  it  also  prevented  being 
seen.     The  heavy  pistol,  knocking  against  my  thigh 
as  I  moved,  made  me  feel   I  was  carrying  a  child's 
toy,  foolishly.      I   experienced   in   every  nerve   that 
primitive  vast  dread  which  is  the  Thrill  of  darkness. 
Merely  the  child  in  me  was  comforted  by  that  pistol. 
The  night  was  not  entirely  black  ;  the  iron  bars 
across  the  glass  front  door  were  visible,  and,  equally,  I 
discerned  the  big,  stiff  wooden  chairs  in  the  hall,  the 
gaping   fireplace,  the  upright  pillars  supporting  the 
staircase,  the  round  table  in  the  centre  with  its  books 
and  flower-vases,  and  the  basket  that  held  visitors' 
cards.     There,  too,  was  the  stick  and  umbrella  stand 
and  the  shelf  with  railway  guides,  directory,  and  tele- 
graph forms.     Clocks  ticked  everywhere  with  sounds 
like  quiet   footfalls.      Light   fell   here  and   there  in 
patches  from  the  floor  above.     I  stood  a  moment  in 
the  hall,  letting  my  eyes  grow  more  accustomed  to 
the  gloom,  while  deciding  on  a  plan  of  search.     I 
made  out  the  ivy  trailing  outside  over  one  of  the 
big  windows   .    .   .   and  then   the  tall  clock   by  the 
front  door  made  a  grating  noise  deep  down  inside 
its  body — it  was  the  Presentation  clock,  large   and 
hideous,  given  by  the  congregation  of  his  church — 
and,  dreading  the  booming  strike  it  seemed  to  threaten, 
I  made  a  quick  decision.      If  others   beside  myself 
were  about  in  the  night,  the  sound  of  that  striking 
might  cover  their  approach. 

So  I  tiptoed  to  the  right,  where  the  passage  led 
towards   the  dining-room.      In   the   other  direction 


2o4         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

were  the  morning-  and  drawing-room,  both  little  used, 
and  various  other  rooms  beyond  that  had  been  his, 
generally  now  kept  locked.  I  thought  of  my  sister, 
waiting  upstairs  with  that  frightened  woman  for  my 
return.      I  went  quickly,  yet  stealthily. 

And,  to  my  surprise,  the  door  of  the  dining-room 
was  open.     It  had  been  opened.     I  paused  on  the 
threshold,  staring  about  me.     I  think  I  fully  expected 
to  see  a  figure  blocked  in  the  shadows  against  the 
heavy  sideboard,  or  looming  on  the  other  side  beneath 
his  portrait.      But   the   room  was   empty  ;    I  felt  it 
empty.     Through  the  wide  bow-windows  that  gave 
on  to  the  verandah  came  an  uncertain  glimmer  that 
even  shone  reflected  in  the  polished  surface  of  the 
dinner-table,  and  again  I  perceived  the  stiff  outline 
of  chairs,  waiting  tenantless  all  round  it,  two  larger 
ones  with   high   carved   backs  at   either   end.      The 
monkey-trees  on  the  upper  terrace,  too,  were  visible 
outside  against  the  sky,  and  the  solemn  crests  of  the 
wellingtonias  on  the  terraces  below.     The  enormous 
clock   on    the    mantelpiece    ticked    very   slowly,    as 
though    its    machinery   were    running    down,  and   I 
made   out   the  pale  round   patch   that   was  its   face. 
Resisting  my  first  inclination  to  turn  the  lights  up 
— my  hand  had  gone  so  far  as  to  finger  the  friendly 
knob — I  crossed  the  room  so  carefully  that  no  single 
board  creaked,  nor  a  single  chair,  as  I  rested  a  hand 
upon  its  back,  moved  on  the  parquet   flooring.      I 
turned  neither  to  the  right  nor  left,  nor  did  I  once 
look  back. 

I  went  towards  the  long  corridor,  filled  with  price- 
less objets  d'art,  that  led  through  various  antechambers 
into  the  spacious  music-room,  and  only  at  the  mouth 
of  this  corridor  did  I  next  halt  a  moment  in  uncertainty. 
For  this  long  corridor,  lit  faintly  by  high  windows  on 


THE  DAMNED  205 

the  left  from  the  verandah,  was  very  narrow,  owing 
to  the  mass  of  shelves  and  fancy  tables  it  contained. 
It  was  not  that  I  feared  to  knock  over  precious  things 
as  I  went,  but  that,  because  of  its  ungenerous  width, 
there  would  be  no  room  to  pass  another  person — 
if  I  met  one.  And  the  certainty  had  suddenly 
come  upon  me  that  somewhere  in  this  corridor 
another  person  at  this  actual  moment  stood.  Here, 
somehow,  amid  all  this  dead  atmosphere  of  furniture 
and  impersonal  emptiness,  lay  the  hint  of  a  living 
human  presence  ;  and  with  such  conviction  did  it 
come  upon  me,  that  my  hand  instinctively  gripped 
the  pistol  in  my  pocket  before  I  could  even  think. 
Either  some  one  had  passed  along  this  corridor  just 
before  me,  or  some  one  lay  waiting  at  its  farther  end 
— withdrawn  or  flattened  into  one  of  the  little  re- 
cesses, to  let  me  pass.  It  was  the  person  who  had 
opened  the  door.  And  the  blood  ran  from  my  heart 
as  I  realised  it. 

It  was  not  courage  that  sent  me  on,  but  rather  a 
strong  impulsion  from  behind  that  made  it  impossible 
to  retreat  :  the  feeling  that  a  throng  pressed  at  my 
back,  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  ;  that  I  was  already 
half  surrounded,  swept,  dragged,  coaxed  into  a  vast 
prison-house  where  there  was  wailing  and  gnashing 
of  teeth,  where  their  worm  dieth  not  and  their  fire 
is  not  quenched.  I  can  neither  explain  nor  justify 
the  storm  of  irrational  emotion  that  swept  me  as  I 
stood  in  that  moment,  staring  down  the  length  of  the 
silent  corridor  towards  the  music-room  at  the  far  end, 
I  can  only  repeat  that  no  personal  bravery  sent  me 
down  it,  but  that  the  negative  emotion  of  fear  was 
swamped  in  this  vast  sea  of  pity  and  commiseration 
for  others  that  surged  upon  me. 

My  senses,  at  least,  were  no  whit  confused  ;  if 


206         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

anything,  my  brain  registered  impressions  with  keener 
accuracy  than  usual.  I  noticed,  for  instance,  that  the 
two  swinging  doors  of  baize  that  cut  the  corridor  into 
definite  lengths,  making  little  rooms  of  the  spaces 
between  them,  were  both  wide  open — in  the  dim  light 
no  mean  achievement.  Also  that  the  fronds  of  a 
palm  plant,  some  ten  feet  in  front  of  me,  still  stirred 
gently  from  the  air  of  some  one  who  had  recently 
gone  past  them.  The  long  green  leaves  waved  to 
and  fro  like  hands.  Then  I  went  stealthily  forward 
down  the  narrow  space,  proud  even  that  I  had  this 
command  of  myself,  and  so  carefully  that  my  feet 
made  no  sound  upon  the  Japanese  matting  on  the 
floor. 

It  was  a  journey  that  seemed  timeless.  I  have  no 
idea  how  fast  or  slow  I  went,  but  I  remember  that  I 
deliberately  examined  articles  on  each  side  of  me, 
peering  with  particular  closeness  into  the  recesses  of 
wall  and  window.  I  passed  the  first  baize  doors,  and 
the  passage  beyond  them  widened  out  to  hold  shelves 
of  books  ;  there  were  sofas  and  small  reading-tables 
against  the  wall.  It  narrowed  again  presently,  as  I 
entered  the  second  stretch.  The  windows  here  were 
higher  and  smaller,  and  marble  statuettes  of  classical 
subjects  lined  the  walls,  watching  me  like  figures  of 
the  dead.  Their  white  and  shining  faces  saw  me,  yet 
made  no  sign.  I  passed  next  between  the  second 
baize  doors.  They,  too,  had  been  fastened  back  with 
hooks  against  the  wall.  Thus  all  doors  were  open 
— had  been  recently  opened. 

And  so,  at  length,  I  found  myself  in  the  final 
widening  of  the  corridor  which  formed  an  ante- 
chamber to  the  music-room  itself.  It  had  been 
used  formerly  to  hold  the  overflow  of  meetings. 
No  door  separated  it  from  the  great  hall  beyond, 


THE  DAMNED  207 

but  heavy  curtains  hung  usually  to  close  it  off,  and 
these  curtains  were  invariably  drawn.  They  now 
stood  wide.  And  here — I  can  merely  state  the 
impression  that  came  upon  me — I  knew  myself  at 
last  surrounded.  The  throng  that  pressed  behind 
me,  also  surged  in  front  :  facing  me  in  the  big 
room,  and  waiting  for  my  entry,  stood  a  multitude  ; 
on  either  side  of  me,  in  the  very  air  above  my  head, 
the  vast  assemblage  paused  upon  my  coming.  The 
pause,  however,  was  momentary,  for  instantly  the 
deep,  tumultuous  movement  was  resumed  that  yet 
was  silent  as  a  cavern  underground.  I  felt  the 
agony  that  was  in  it,  the  passionate  striving,  the 
awful  struggle  to  escape.  The  semi-darkness  held 
beseeching  faces  that  fought  to  press  themselves 
upon  my  vision,  yearning  yet  hopeless  eyes,  lips 
scorched  and  dry,  mouths  that  opened  to  implore 
but  found  no  craved  delivery  in  actual  words,  and 
a  fury  of  misery  and  hate  that  made  the  life  in  me 
stop  dead,  frozen  by  the  horror  of  vain  pity.  That 
intolerable,  vain  Hope  was  everywhere. 

And  the  multitude,  it  came  to  me,  was  not  a 
single  multitude,  but  many  ;  for,  as  soon  as  one 
huge  division  pressed  too  close  upon  the  edge  of 
escape,  it  was  dragged  back  by  another  and  pre- 
vented. The  wild  host  was  divided  against  itself. 
Here  dwelt  the  Shadow  I  had  '  imagined '  weeks 
ago,  and  in  it  struggled  armies  of  lost  souls  as  in 
the  depths  of  some  bottomless  pit  whence  there  is 
no  escape.  The  layers  mingled,  fighting  against 
themselves  in  endless  torture.  It  was  in  this  great 
Shadow  I  had  clairvoyantly  seen  Mabel,  but  about  its 
fearful  mouth,  I  now  was  certain,  hovered  another 
figure  of  darkness,  a  figure  who  sought  to  keep  it 
in   existence,  since   to   her  thought  were  due  those 


208         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

lampless  depths  of  woe  without  escape.  .  .  .  Towards 
me  the  multitudes  now  surged. 

It  was  a  sound  and  a  movement  that  brought  me 
back  into  myself.  The  great  clock  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  room  just  then  struck  the  hour  of  three. 
That  was  the  sound.  And  the  movement — ?  I 
was  aware  that  a  figure  was  passing  across  the  distant 
centre  of  the  floor.  Instantly  I  dropped  back  into 
the  arena  of  my  little  human  terror.  My  hand  again 
clutched  stupidly  at  the  pistol  butt.  I  drew  back 
into  the  folds  of  the  heavy  curtain.  And  the  figure 
advanced. 

I  remember  every  detail.  At  first  it  seemed  to 
me  enormous — this  advancing  shadow — far  beyond 
human  scale  ;  but  as  it  came  nearer,  I  measured  it, 
though  not  consciously,  by  the  organ  pipes  that 
gleamed  in  faint  colours,  just  above  its  gradual  soft 
approach.  It  passed  them,  already  half-way  across 
the  great  room.  I  saw  then  that  its  stature  was  that 
of  ordinary  men.  The  prolonged  booming  of  the 
clock  died  away.  I  heard  the  footfall,  shuffling 
upon  the  polished  boards.  I  heard  another  sound — 
a  voice,  low  and  monotonous,  droning  as  in  prayer. 
The  figure  was  speaking.  It  was  a  woman.  And 
she  carried  in  both  hands  before  her  a  small  object 
that  faintly  shimmered — a  glass  of  water.  And 
then  I  recognised  her. 

There  was  still  an  instant's  time  before  she  reached 
me,  and  I  made  use  of  it.  I  shrank  back,  flattening 
myself  against  the  wall.  Her  voice  ceased  a  moment, 
as  she  turned  and  carefully  drew  the  curtains  together 
behind  her,  closing  them  with  one  hand.  Oblivious 
of  my  presence,  though  she  actually  touched  my 
dressing-gown  with  the  hand  that  pulled  the  cords, 


THE  DAMNED  209 

she  resumed  her  dreadful,  solemn  march,  disappearing 
at  length  down  the  long  vista  of  the  corridor  like  a 
shadow.  But  as  she  passed  me,  her  voice  began 
again,  so  that  I  heard  each  word  distinctly  as  she 
uttered  it,  her  head  aloft,  her  figure  upright,  as 
though  she  moved  at  the  head  of  a  procession  : 

*  A  drop  of  cold  water,  given  in  His  name,  shall 
moisten  their  burning  tongues.' 

It  was  repeated  monotonously  over  and  over  again, 
droning  down  into  the  distance  as  she  went,  until  at 
length  both  voice  and  figure  faded  into  the  shadows 
at  the  farther  end. 

For  a  time,  I  have  no  means  of  measuring  pre- 
cisely, I  stood  in  that  dark  corner,  pressing  my  back 
against  the  wall,  and  would  have  drawn  the  curtains 
down  to  hide  me  had  I  dared  to  stretch  an  arm  out. 
The  dread  that  presently  the  woman  would  return 
passed  gradually  away.  I  realised  that  the  air  had 
emptied,  the  crowd  her  presence  had  stirred  into 
activity  had  retreated  ;  I  was  alone  in  the  gloomy 
under-spaces  of  the  odious  building.  .  .  .  Then  I 
remembered  suddenly  again  the  terrified  women 
waiting  for  me  on  that  upper  landing  ;  and  realised 
that  my  skin  was  wet  and  freezing  cold  after  a  pro- 
fuse perspiration.  I  prepared  to  retrace  my  steps.  I 
remember  the  effort  it  cost  me  to  leave  the  support 
of  the  wall  and  covering  darkness  of  my  corner,  and 
step  out  into  the  grey  light  of  the  corridor.  At  first 
I  sidled,  then,  finding  this  mode  of  walking  im- 
possible, turned  my  face  boldly  and  walked  quickly, 
regardless  that  my  dressing-gown  set  the  precious 
objects  shaking  as  I  passed.  A  wind  that  sighed 
mournfully  against  the  high,  small  windows  seemed 
to  have  got  inside  the  corridor  as  well  ;  it  felt  so 
cold  ;  and  every  moment  I  dreaded  to  see  the  outline 

p 


210         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

of  the  woman's  figure  as  she  waited  in  recess  or  angle 
against  the  wall  for  me  to  pass. 

Was  there  another  thing  I  dreaded  even  more? 
I  cannot  say.  I  only  know  that  the  first  baize  doors 
had  swung-to  behind  me,  and  the  second  ones  were 
close  at  hand,  when  the  great  dim  thunder  caught 
me,  pouring  up  with  prodigious  volume  so  that  it 
seemed  to  roll  out  from  another  world.  It  shook 
the  very  bowels  of  the  building.  I  was  closer  to  it 
than  that  other  time,  when  it  had  followed  me  from 
the  goblin  garden.  There  was  strength  and  hardness 
in  it,  as  of  metal  reverberation.  Some  touch  of 
numbness,  almost  of  paralysis,  must  surely  have  been 
upon  me  that  I  felt  no  actual  terror,  for  I  remember 
even  turning  and  standing  still  to  hear  it  better. 
'  That  is  the  Noise,'  my  thought  ran  stupidly, 
and  I  think  I  whispered  it  aloud  ;  '  the  Boors  are 
closing? 

The  wind  outside  against  the  windows  was  audible, 
so  it  cannot  have  been  really  loud,  yet  to  me  it  was 
the  biggest,  deepest  sound  I  have  ever  heard,  but  so 
far  away,  with  such  awful  remoteness  in  it,  that  I  had 
to  doubt  my  own  ears  at  the  same  time.  It  seemed 
underground — the  rumbling  of  earthquake  gates  that 
shut  remorselessly  within  the  rocky  Earth — stupen- 
dous ultimate  thunder.  They  were  shut  off  from  help 
again.     The  doors  had  closed. 

I  felt  a  storm  of  pity,  an  agony  of  bitter,  futile 
hate  sweep  through  me.  My  memory  of  the  figure 
changed  then.  The  Woman  with  the  glass  of 
cooling  water  had  stepped  down  from  Heaven  ;  but 
the  Man — or  was  it  Men  ? — who  smeared  this  terrible 
layer  of  belief  and  Thought  upon  the  world  !   .  .   . 

I  crossed  the  dining-room — it  was  fancy,  of  course, 
that  held  my  eyes  from  glancing  at  the  portrait  for 


THE  DAMNED  211 

fear  I  should  see  it  smiling  approval — and  so  finally 
reached  the  hall,  where  the  light  from  the  floor  above 
seemed  now  quite  bright  in  comparison.  All  the 
doors  I  closed  carefully  behind  me  ;  but  first  I  had 
to  open  them.  The  woman  had  closed  every  one. 
Up  the  stairs,  then,  I  actually  ran,  two  steps  at  a 
time.  My  sister  was  standing  outside  Mabel's  door. 
By  her  face  I  knew  that  she  had  also  heard.  There 
was  no  need  to  ask.     I  quickly  made  my  mind  up. 

'  There's  nothing,'  I  said,  and  detailed  briefly  my 
tour  of  search.  '  All  is  quiet  and  undisturbed  down- 
stairs.'    May  God  forgive  me  ! 

She  beckoned  to  me,  closing  the  door  softly 
behind  her.  My  heart  beat  violently  a  moment, 
then  stood  still. 

'  Mabel,'  she  said  aloud. 

It  was  like  the  sentence  of  a  judge,  that  one  short 
word. 

I  tried  to  push  past  her  and  go  in,  but  she  stopped 
me  with  her  arm.  She  was  wholly  mistress  of  her- 
self, I  saw. 

1  Hush!'  she  said  in  a  lower  voice.  '  I've  got  her 
round  again  with  brandy.  She's  sleeping  quietly  now. 
We  won't  disturb  her.' 

She  drew  me  farther  out  into  the  landing,  and  as 
she  did  so,  the  clock  in  the  hall  below  struck  half- 
past  three.  I  had  stood,  then,  thirty  minutes  in  the 
corridor  below.  '  You've  been  such  a  long  time,'  she 
said  simply.  *  I  feared  for  you,'  and  she  took  my 
hand  in  her  own  that  was  cold  and  clammy. 

VIII 

And  then,  while  that  dreadful  house  stood  listening 
about  us  in  the  early  hours  of  this  chill  morning  upon 


212         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

the  edge  of  winter,  she  told  me,  with  laconic  brevity, 
things  about  Mabel  that  I  heard  as  from  a  distance. 
There  was  nothing  so  unusual  or  tremendous  in  the 
short  recital,  nothing  indeed  I  might  not  have  already 
guessed  for  myself.  It  was  the  time  and  scene,  the 
inference,  too,  that  made  it  so  afflicting  :  the  idea  that 
Mabel  believed  herself  so  utterly  and  hopelessly  lost 
— beyond  recovery  damned. 

That  she  had  loved  him  with  so  passionate  a 
devotion  that  she  had  given  her  soul  into  his  keeping, 
this  certainly  I  had  not  divined — probably  because  I 
had  never  thought  about  it  one  way  or  the  other. 
He  had  *  converted '  her,  I  knew,  but  that  she  had 
subscribed  whole-heartedly  to  that  most  cruel  and 
ugly  of  his  dogmas — this  was  new  to  me,  and  came 
with  a  certain  shock  as  I  heard  it.  In  love,  of  course, 
the  weaker  nature  is  receptive  to  all  manner  of 
suggestion.  This  man  had  '  suggested  '  his  pet  brim- 
stone lake  so  vividly  that  she  had  listened  and 
believed.  He  had  frightened  her  into  heaven ;  and 
his  heaven,  a  definite  locality  in  the  skies,  had  its 
foretaste  here  on  earth  in  miniature — The  Towers, 
house  and  garden.  Into  his  dolorous  scheme  of  a 
handful  saved  and  millions  damned,  his  enclosure,  as 
it  were,  of  sheep  and  goats,  he  had  swept  her  before 
she  was  aware  of  it.  Her  mind  no  longer  was  her 
own.  And  it  was  Mrs.  Marsh  who  kept  the  thought- 
stream  open,  though  tempered,  as  she  deemed,  with 
that  touch  of  craven,  superstitious  mercy. 

But  what  I  found  it  difficult  to  understand,  and 
still  more  difficult  to  accept,  was  that,  during  her  year 
abroad,  she  had  been  so  haunted  with  a  secret  dread 
of  that  hideous  after-death  that  she  had  finally 
revolted  and  tried  to  recover  that  clearer  state  of  mind 
she  had  enjoyed  before  the  religious  bully  had  stunned 


THE  DAMNED  213 

her — yet  had  tried  in  vain.  She  had  returned  to  The 
Towers  to  find  her  soul  again,  only  to  realise  that  it 
was  lost  eternally.  The  cleaner  state  of  mind  lay 
then  beyond  recovery.  In  the  reaction  that  followed 
the  removal  of  his  terrible  '  suggestion,'  she  felt  the 
crumbling  of  all  that  he  had  taught  her,  but  searched 
in  vain  for  the  peace  and  beauty  his  teachings  had 
destroyed.  Nothing  came  to  replace  these.  She  was 
empty,  desolate,  hopeless  ;  craving  her  former  joy 
and  carelessness,  she  found  only  hate  and  diabolical 
calculation.  This  man,  whom  she  had  loved  to  the 
point  of  losing  her  soul  for  him,  had  bequeathed  to 
her  one  black  and  fiery  thing — the  terror  of  the 
damned.  His  thinking  wrapped  her  in  this  iron 
garment  that  held  her  fast. 

All  this  Frances  told  me,  far  more  briefly 
than  I  have  here  repeated  it.  In  her  eyes  and 
gestures  and  laconic  sentences  lay  the  conviction  of 
great  beating  issues  and  of  menacing  drama  my  own 
description  fails  to  recapture.  It  was  all  so  incon- 
gruous and  remote  from  the  world  I  lived  in  that 
more  than  once  a  smile,  though  a  smile  of  pity, 
fluttered  to  my  lips ;  but  a  glimpse  of  my  face  in  the 
mirror  showed  rather  the  leer  of  a  grimace.  There 
was  no  real  laughter  anywhere  that  night.  The 
entire  adventure  seemed  so  incredible,  here,  in  this 
twentieth  century — but  yet  delusion,  that  feeble  word, 
did  not  occur  once  in  the  comments  my  mind 
suggested  though  did  not  utter.  I  remembered  that 
forbidding  Shadow  too  ;  my  sister's  water-colours  ; 
the  vanished  personality  of  our  hostess  ;  the  inexplic- 
able, thundering  Noise,  and  the  figure  of  Mrs.  Marsh 
in  her  midnight  ritual  that  was  so  childish  yet  so 
horrible.  I  shivered  in  spite  of  my  own  '  emancipated ' 
cast  of  mind. 


2i4         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

'  There  is  no  Mabel,'  were  the  words  with  which 
my  sister  sent  another  shower  of  ice  down  my  spine. 
'  He  has  killed  her  in  his  lake  of  fire  and  brimstone.' 

I  stared  at  her  blankly,  as  in  a  nightmare  where 
nothing  true  or  possible  ever  happened. 

'  He  killed  her  in  his  lake  of  fire  and  brimstone,' 
she  repeated  more  faintly. 

A  desperate  effort  was  in  me  to  say  the  strong, 
sensible  thing  which  should  destroy  the  oppressive 
horror  that  grew  so  stiflingly  about  us  both,  but 
again  the  mirror  drew  the  attempted  smile  into  the 
merest  grin,  betraying  the  distortion  that  was  every- 
where in  the  place. 

'  You  mean,'  I  stammered  beneath  my  breath, 
'  that  her  faith  has  gone,  but  that  the  terror  has 
remained  ?  '  I  asked  it,  dully  groping.  I  moved 
out  of  the  line  of  the  reflection  in  the  glass. 

She  bowed  her  head  as  though  beneath  a  weight ; 
her  skin  was  the  pallor  of  grey  ashes. 

*  You  mean,'  I  said  louder,  '  that  she  has  lost  her 
— mind  ? ' 

1  She  is  terror  incarnate,'  was  the  whispered  answer. 
'  Mabel  has  lost  her  soul.  Her  soul  is — there  ! ' 
She  pointed  horribly  below.    '  She  is  seeking  it  .   .   .  ? ' 

The  word  l  soul '  stung  me  into  something  of  my 
normal  self  again. 

'  But  her  terror,  poor  thing,  is  not — cannot  be — 
transferable  to  us  ! '  I  exclaimed  more  vehemently. 
'  It  certainly  is  not  convertible  into  feelings,  sights 
and — even  sounds  ! ' 

She  interrupted  me  quickly,  almost  impatiently, 
speaking  with  that  conviction  by  which  she  con- 
quered me  so  easily  that  night. 

'  It  is  her  terror  that  has  revived  "  the  Others."  It 
has  brought  her  into  touch  with  them.      They  are 


THE  DAMNED  215 

loose  and  driving  after  her.  Her  efforts  at  resistance 
have  given  them  also  hope — that  escape,  after  all,  is 
possible.     Day  and  night  they  strive.' 

*  Escape  !  Others  ! '  The  anger  fast  rising  in 
me  dropped  of  its  own  accord  at  the  moment  of 
birth.  It  shrank  into  a  shuddering  beyond  my 
control.  In  that  moment,  I  think,  I  would  have 
believed  in  the  possibility  of  anything  and  everything 
she  might  tell  me.  To  argue  or  contradict  seemed 
equally  futile. 

'  His  strong  belief,  as  also  the  beliefs  of  others  who 
have  preceded  him,'  she  replied,  so  sure  of  herself 
that  I  actually  turned  to  look  over  my  shoulder, 
1  have  left  their  shadow  like  a  thick  deposit  over  the 
house  and  grounds.  To  them,  poor  souls  imprisoned 
by  thought,  it  was  hopeless  as  granite  walls — until 
her  resistance,  her  effort  to  dissipate  it — let  in  light. 
Now,  in  their  thousands,  they  are  flocking  to  this 
little  light,  seeking  escape.  Her  own  escape,  don't 
you  see,  may  release  them  all  ! ' 

It  took  my  breath  away.  Had  his  predecessors, 
former  occupants  of  this  house,  also  preached  damna- 
tion of  all  the  world  but  their  own  exclusive  sect  ? 
Was  this  the  explanation  of  her  obscure  talk  of 
*  layers,'  each  striving  against  the  other  for  domina- 
tion ?  And  if  men  are  spirits,  and  these  spirits 
survive,  could  strong  Thought  thus  determine  their 
condition  even  afterwards  ? 

So  many  questions  flooded  into  me  that  I  selected 
no  one  of  them,  but  stared  in  uncomfortable  silence, 
bewildered,  out  of  my  depth,  and  acutely,  painfully 
distressed.  There  was  so  odd  a  mixture  of  possible 
truth  and  incredible,  unacceptable  explanation  in  it 
all ;  so  much  confirmed,  yet  so  much  left  darker  than 
before.     What  she   said   did,  indeed,  offer   a   quasi- 


216         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

interpretation  of  my  own  series  of  abominable  sensa- 
tions— strife,  agony,  pity,  hate,  escape — but  so  far- 
fetched that  only  the  deep  conviction  in  her  voice 
and  attitude  made  it  tolerable  for  a  second  even.  I 
found  myself  in  a  curious  state  of  mind.  I  could 
neither  think  clearly  nor  say  a  word  to  refute  her 
amazing  statements,  whispered  there  beside  me  in  the 
shivering  hours  of  the  early  morning  with  only  a  wall 
between  ourselves  and — Mabel.  Close  behind  her 
words  I  remember  this  singular  thing,  however  — 
that  an  atmosphere  as  of  the  Inquisition  seemed  to 
rise  and  stir  about  the  room,  beating  awful  wings  of 
black  above  my  head. 

Abruptly,  then,  a  moment's  common-sense  returned 
to  me.     I  faced  her. 

'  And  the  Noise  ? '  I  said  aloud,  more  firmly,  '  the 
roar  of  the  closing  doors  ?  We  have  all  heard  that ! 
Is  that  subjective  too  ? ' 

Frances  looked  sideways  about  her  in  a  queer 
fashion  that  made  my  flesh  creep  again.  I  spoke 
brusquely,  almost  angrily.  I  repeated  the  question, 
and  waited  with  anxiety  for  her  reply. 

1  What  noise  ? '  she  asked,  with  the  frank  ex- 
pression of  an  innocent  child.  'What  closing 
doors  ? ' 

But  her  face  turned  from  grey  to  white,  and  I 
saw  that  drops  of  perspiration  glistened  on  her 
forehead.  She  caught  at  the  back  of  a  chair  to 
steady  herself,  then  glanced  about  her  again  with 
that  sidelong  look  that  made  my  blood  run  cold. 
I  understood  suddenly  then.  She  did  not  take  in 
what  I  said.  I  knew  now.  She  was  listening — for 
something  else. 

And  the  discovery  revived  in  me  a  far  stronger 
emotion  than  any  mere  desire  for  immediate  explana- 


THE  DAMNED  217 

tion.  Not  only  did  I  not  insist  upon  an  answer,  but 
I  was  actually  terrified  lest  she  would  answer.  More, 
I  felt  in  me  a  terror  lest  I  should  be  moved  to  describe 
my  own  experiences  below-stairs,  thus  increasing  their 
reality  and  so  the  reality  of  all.  She  might  even  ex- 
plain them  too  ! 

Still  listening  intently,  she  raised  her  head  and 
looked  me  in  the  eyes.  Her  lips  opened  to  speak. 
The  words  came  to  me  from  a  great  distance,  it 
seemed,  and  her  voice  had  a  sound  like  a  stone  that 
drops  into  a  deep  well,  its  fate  though  hidden, 
known. 

1  We  are  in  it  with  her,  too,  Bill.  We  are  in  it 
with  her.  Our  interpretations  vary — because  we  are 
— in  parts  of  it  only.      Mabel  is  in  it — all.1 

The  desire  for  violence  came  over  me.  If  only 
she  would  say  a  definite  thing  in  plain  King's  English  ! 
If  only  I  could  find  it  in  me  to  give  utterance  to  what 
shouted  so  loud  within  me  !  If  only — the  same  old 
cry — something  would  happen  !  For  all  this  elliptic 
talk  that  dazed  my  mind  left  obscurity  everywhere. 
Her  atrocious  meaning,  none  the  less,  flashed  through 
me,  though  vanishing  before  it  wholly  divulged  itself. 

It  brought  a  certain  reaction  with  it.  I  found  my 
tongue.  Whether  I  actually  believed  what  I  said  is 
more  than  I  can  swear  to  ;  that  it  seemed  to  me  wise 
at  the  moment  is  all  I  remember.  My  mind  was  in 
a  state  of  obscure  perception  less  than  that  of  normal 
consciousness. 

1  Yes,  Frances,  I  believe  that  what  you  say  is  the 
truth,  and  that  we  are  in  it  with  her '—  I  meant  to 
say  it  with  loud,  hostile  emphasis,  but  instead  I 
whispered  it  lest  she  should  hear  the  trembling  of 
my  voice — *  and  for  that  reason,  my  dear  sister,  we 
leave  to-morrow,  you  and  I — to-day,  rather,  since  it 


2i 8  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

is  long  past  midnight — =we  leave  this  house  of  the 
damned.     We  go  back  to  London.' 

Frances  looked  up,  her  face  distraught  almost 
beyond  recognition.  But  it  was  not  my  words  that 
caused  the  tumult  in  her  heart.  It  was  a  sound — the 
sound  she  had  been  listening  for — so  faint  I  barely 
caught  it  myself,  and  had  she  not  pointed  I  could 
never  have  known  the  direction  whence  it  came. 
Small  and  terrible  it  rose  again  in  the  stillness  of  the 
night,  the  sound  of  gnashing  teeth.  And  behind  it 
came  another — the  tread  of  stealthy  footsteps.  Both 
were  just  outside  the  door. 

The  room  swung  round  me  for  a  second.  My 
first  instinct  to  prevent  my  sister  going  out — she  had 
dashed  past  me  frantically  to  the  door — gave  place  to 
another  when  I  saw  the  expression  in  her  eyes.  I 
followed  her  lead  instead  ;  it  was  surer  than  my  own. 
The  pistol  in  my  pocket  swung  uselessly  against  my 
thigh.  I  was  flustered  beyond  belief  and  ashamed 
that  I  was  so. 

'  Keep  close  to  me,  Frances,'  I  said  huskily,  as  the 
door  swung  wide  and  a  shaft  of  light  fell  upon  a  figure 
moving  rapidly.  Mabel  was  going  down  the  corridor. 
Beyond  her,  in  the  shadows  on  the  staircase,  a  second 
figure  stood  beckoning,  scarcely  visible. 

1  Before  they  get  her  !  Quick  ! '  was  screamed 
into  my  ears,  and  our  arms  were  about  her  in  the 
same  moment.  It  was  a  horrible  scene.  Not  that 
Mabel  struggled  in  the  least,  but  that  she  collapsed 
as  we  caught  her  and  fell  with  her  dead  weight,  as  of 
a  corpse,  limp,  against  us.  And  her  teeth  began  again. 
They  continued,  even  beneath  the  hand  that  Frances 
clapped  upon  her  lips.   .  .   . 

We  carried  her  back  into  her  own  bedroom,  where 
she  lay  down   peacefully  enough.      It  was  so  soon 


THE  DAMNED  219 

over.  .  .  .  The  rapidity  of  the  whole  thing  robbed 
it  of  reality  almost.  It  had  the  swiftness  of  some- 
thing remembered  rather  than  of  something  witnessed. 
She  slept  again  so  quickly  that  it  was  almost  as  if  we 
had  caught  her  sleep-walking.  I  cannot  say.  I  asked 
no  questions  at  the  time  ;  I  have  asked  none  since  ; 
and  my  help  was  needed  as  little  as  the  protection  of 
my  pistol.  Frances  was  strangely  competent  and 
collected.  ...  I  lingered  for  some  time  uselessly  by 
the  door,  till  at  length,  looking  up  with  a  sigh,  she 
made  a  sign  for  me  to  go. 

'  I  shall  wait  in  your  room  next  door,'  I  whispered, 
'  till  you  come.'  But,  though  going  out,  I  waited  in 
the  corridor  instead,  so  as  to  hear  the  faintest  call  for 
help.  In  that  dark  corridor  upstairs  I  waited,  but 
not  long.  It  may  have  been  fifteen  minutes  when 
Frances  reappeared,  locking  the  door  softly  behind 
her.     Leaning  over  the  banisters,  I  saw  her. 

'  I'll  go  in  again  about  six  o'clock,'  she  whispered, 
*  as  soon  as  it  gets  light.  She  is  sound  asleep  now. 
Please  don't  wait.  If  anything  happens  I'll  call — 
you  might  leave  your  door  ajar,  perhaps.'  And  she 
came  up,  looking  like  a  ghost. 

But  I  saw  her  first  safely  into  bed,  and  the  rest  of 
the  night  I  spent  in  an  armchair  close  to  my  opened 
door,  listening  for  the  slightest  sound.  Soon  after 
five  o'clock  I  heard  Frances  fumbling  with  the  key, 
and,  peering  over  the  railing  again,  I  waited  till  she 
reappeared  and  went  back  into  her  own  room.  She 
closed  her  door.  Evidently  she  was  satisfied  that  all 
was  well. 

Then,  and  then  only,  did  I  go  to  bed  myself,  but 
not  to  sleep.  I  could  not  get  the  scene  out  of  my 
mind,  especially  that  odious  detail  of  it  which  I 
hoped  and  believed  my  sister  had  not  seen — the  still, 


220         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

dark  figure  of  the  housekeeper  waiting  on  the  stairs 
below — waiting,  of  course,  for  Mabel. 

IX 

It  seems  1  became  a  mere  spectator  after  that ;  my 
sister's  lead  was  so  assured  for  one  thing,  and,  for 
another,  the  responsibility  of  leaving  Mabel  alone — 
Frances  laid  it  bodily  upon  my  shoulders — was  a 
little  more  than  I  cared  about.  Moreover,  when  we 
all  three  met  later  in  the  day,  things  went  on  so  exactly 
as  before,  so  absolutely  without  friction  or  distress, 
that  to  present  a  sudden,  obvious  excuse  for  cutting 
our  visit  short  seemed  ill-judged.  And  on  the  lowest 
grounds  it  would  have  been  desertion.  At  any  rate, 
it  was  beyond  my  powers,  and  Frances  was  quite  firm 
that  she  must  stay.  We  therefore  did  stay.  Things 
that  happen  in  the  night  always  seem  exaggerated  and 
distorted  when  the  sun  shines  brightly  next  morning  ; 
no  one  can  reconstruct  the  terror  of  a  nightmare 
afterwards,  nor  comprehend  why  it  seemed  so  over- 
whelming at  the  time. 

I  slept  till  ten  o'clock,  and  when  I  rang  for  break- 
fast, a  note  from  my  sister  lay  upon  the  tray,  its 
message  of  counsel  couched  in  a  calm  and  comforting 
strain.  Mabel,  she  assured  me,  was  herself  again  and 
remembered  nothing  of  what  had  happened  ;  there 
was  no  need  of  any  violent  measures  ;  I  was  to  treat 
her  exactly  as  if  I  knew  nothing.  'And,  if  you 
don't  mind,  Bill,  let  us  leave  the  matter  unmentioned 
between  ourselves  as  well.  Discussion  exaggerates  ; 
such  things  are  best  not  talked  about.  I'm  sorry  I 
disturbed  you  so  unnecessarily  ;  I  was  stupidly  ex- 
cited. Please  forget  all  the  things  I  said  at  the 
moment.'     She  had  written  '  nonsense '  first  instead 


THE  DAMNED  221 

of  'things,'  then  scratched  it  out.  She  wished  to 
convey  that  hysteria  had  been  abroad  in  the  night, 
and  I  readily  gulped  the  explanation  down,  though 
it  could  not  satisfy  me  in  the  smallest  degree. 

There  was  another  week  of  our  visit  still,  and  we 
stayed  it  out  to  the  end  without  disaster.  My  desire 
to  leave  at  times  became  that  frantic  thing,  desire  to 
escape  ;  but  I  controlled  it,  kept  silent,  watched  and 
wondered.  Nothing  happened.  As  before,  and 
everywhere,  there  was  no  sequence  of  development, 
no  connection  between  cause  and  effect ;  and  climax, 
none  whatever.  The  thing  swayed  up  and  down, 
backwards  and  forwards  like  a  great  loose  curtain  in 
the  wind,  and  I  could  only  vaguely  surmise  what 
caused  the  draught  or  why  there  was  a  curtain  at  all. 
A  novelist  might  mould  the  queer  material  into 
coherent  sequence  that  would  be  interesting  but  could 
not  be  true.  It  remains,  therefore,  not  a  story  but  a 
history.     Nothing  happened. 

Perhaps  my  intense  dislike  of  the  fall  of  darkness 
was  due  wholly  to  my  stirred  imagination,  and 
perhaps  my  anger  when  I  learned  that  Frances  now 
occupied  a  bed  in  our  hostess's  room  was  unreason- 
able. Nerves  were  unquestionably  on  edge.  I  was 
for  ever  on  the  look-out  for  some  event  that  should 
make  escape  imperative,  but  yet  that  never  presented 
itself.  I  slept  lightly,  left  my  door  ajar  to  catch  the 
slightest  sound,  even  made  stealthy  tours  of  the  house 
below-stairs  while  everybody  dreamed  in  their  beds. 
But  I  discovered  nothing  ;  the  doors  were  always 
locked  ;  I  neither  saw  the  housekeeper  again  in 
unreasonable  times  and  places,  nor  heard  a  footstep 
in  the  passages  and  halls.  The  Noise  was  never  once 
repeated.  That  horrible,  ultimate  thunder,  my 
intensest  dread  of  all,  lay  withdrawn  into  the  abyss 


222  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

whence  it  had  twice  arisen.  And  though  in  my 
thoughts  it  was  sternly  denied  existence,  the  great 
black  reason  for  the  fact  afflicted  me  unbelievably. 
Since  Mabel's  fruitless  effort  to  escape,  the  Doors 
kept  closed  remorselessly.  She  had  failed ;  they 
gave  up  hope.  For  this  was  the  explanation  that 
haunted  the  region  of  my  mind  where  feelings  stir 
and  hint  before  they  clothe  themselves  in  actual 
language.  Only  I  firmly  kept  it  there  ;  it  never 
knew  expression. 

But,  if  my  ears  were  open,  my  eyes  were  opened 
too,  and  it  were  idle  to  pretend  that  I  did  not  notice 
a  hundred  details  that  were  capable  of  sinister  inter- 
pretation had  I  been  weak  enough  to  yield.  Some 
protective  barrier  had  fallen  into  ruins  round  me, 
so  that  Terror  stalked  behind  the  general  collapse, 
feeling  for  me  through  all  the  gaping  fissures.  Much 
of  this,  I  admit,  must  have  been  merely  the  elabora- 
tion of  those  sensations  I  had  first  vaguely  felt,  before 
subsequent  events  and  my  talks  with  Frances  had 
dramatised  them  into  living  thoughts.  I  therefore 
leave  them  unmentioned  in  this  history,  just  as  my 
mind  left  them  unmentioned  in  that  interminable 
final  week. 

Our  life  went  on  precisely  as  before — Mabel  unreal 
and  outwardly  so  still  ;  Frances,  secretive,  anxious, 
tactful  to  the  point  of  slyness,  and  keen  to  save  to 
the  point  of  self-forgetfulness.  There  were  the  same 
stupid  meals,  the  same  wearisome  long  evenings,  the 
stifling  ugliness  of  house  and  grounds,  the  Shadow 
settling  in  so  thickly  that  it  seemed  almost  a  visible, 
tangible  thing.  I  came  to  feel  the  only  friendly 
things  in  all  this  hostile,  cruel  place  were  the  robins 
that  hopped  boldly  over  the  monstrous  terraces  and 
even  up  to  the  windows  of  the  unsightly  house  itself. 


THE  DAMNED  223 

The  robins  alone  knew  joy  ;  they  danced,  believing 
no  evil  thing  was  possible  in  all  God's  radiant  world. 
They  believed  in  everybody  ;  their  god's  plan  of  life 
had  no  room  in  it  for  hell,  damnation  and  lakes  of 
brimstone.  1  came  to  love  the  little  birds.  Had 
Samuel  Franklyn  known  them,  he  might  have 
preached  a  different  sermon,  bequeathing  love  in 
place  of  terror  !   .   .  . 

Most  of  my  time  I  spent  writing  ;  but  it  was  a 
pretence  at  best,  and  rather  a  dangerous  one  besides. 
For  it  stirred  the  mind  to  production,  with  the  result 
that  other  things  came  pouring  in  as  well.  With 
reading  it  was  the  same.  In  the  end  I  found  an 
aggressive,  deliberate  resistance  to  be  the  only  way  of 
feasible  defence.  To  walk  far  afield  was  out  of  the 
question,  for  it  meant  leaving  my  sister  too  long 
alone,  so  that  my  exercise  was  confined  to  nearer 
home.  My  saunters  in  the  grounds,  however,  never 
surprised  the  goblin  garden  again.  It  was  close  at 
hand,  but  I  seemed  unable  to  get  wholly  into  it.  Too 
many  things  assailed  my  mind  for  any  one  to  hold 
exclusive  possession,  perhaps. 

Indeed,  all  the  interpretations,  all  the  'layers,'  to 
use  my  sister's  phrase,  slipped  in  by  turns  and  lodged 
there  for  a  time.  They  came  day  and  night,  and 
though  my  reason  denied  them  entrance  they  held 
their  own  as  by  a  kind  of  squatters'  right.  They 
stirred  moods  already  in  me,  that  is,  and  did  not 
introduce  entirely  new  ones  ;  for  every  mind  conceals 
ancestral  deposits  that  have  been  cultivated  in  turn 
along  the  whole  line  of  its  descent.  Any  day  a 
chance  shower  may  cause  this  one  or  that  to  blossom. 
Thus  it  came  to  me,  at  any  rate.  After  darkness  the 
Inquisition  paced  the  empty  corridors  and  set  up 
ghastly  apparatus  in  the  dismal  halls  ;  and  once,  in 


224         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

the  library,  there  swept  over  me  that  easy  and 
delicious  conviction  that  by  confessing  my  wicked- 
ness I  could  resume  it  later,  since  Confession  is 
expression,  and  expression  brings  relief  and  leaves 
one  ready  to  accumulate  again.  And  in  such  mood 
I  felt  bitter  and  unforgiving  towards  all  others 
who  thought  differently.  Another  time  it  was  a 
Pagan  thing  that  assaulted  me — so  trivial  yet  oh, 
so  significant  at  the  time — when  I  dreamed  that  a 
herd  of  centaurs  rolled  up  with  a  great  stamping  of 
hoofs  round  the  house  to  destroy  it,  and  then  woke 
to  hear  the  horses  tramping  across  the  field  below  the 
lawns ;  they  neighed  ominously  and  their  noisy  panting 
was  audible  as  if  it  were  just  outside  my  windows. 

But  the  tree  episode,  I  think,  was  the  most  curious 
of  all — except,  perhaps,  the  incident  with  the  children 
which  I  shall  mention  in  a  moment — for  its  closeness 
to  reality  was  so  unforgettable.  Outside  the  east 
window  of  my  room  stood  a  giant  wellingtonia  on 
the  lawn,  its  head  rising  level  with  the  upper  sash. 
It  grew  some  twenty  feet  away,  planted  on  the 
highest  terrace,  and  I  often  saw  it  when  closing  my 
curtains  for  the  night,  noticing  how  it  drew  its  heavy 
skirts  about  it,  and  how  the  light  from  other  windows 
threw  frlimmering  streaks  and  patches  that  turned  it 
\nrj  the  semblance  of  a  towering,  solemn  image.  It 
stood  there  then  so  strikingly,  somehow  like  a  great 
old-world  idol,  that  it  claimed  attention.  Its 
appearance  was  curiously  formidable.  Its  branches 
rustled  without  visibly  moving  and  it  had  a  certain 
portentous,  forbidding  air,  so  grand  and  dark  and 
monstrous  in  the  night  that  I  was  always  glad  when 
my  curtains  shut  it  out.  Yet,  once  in  bed,  I  had 
never  thought  about  it  one  way  or  the  other,  and  by 
day  had  certainly  never  sought  it  out. 


THE  DAMNED  225 

One  night,  then,  as  I  went  to  bed  and  closed  this 
window  against  a  cutting  easterly  wind,  I  saw — that 
there  were  two  of  these  trees.  A  brother  welling- 
tonia  rose  mysteriously  beside  it,  equally  huge,  equally 
towering,  equally  monstrous.  The  menacing  pair 
of  them  faced  me  there  upon  the  lawn.  But  in  this 
new  arrival  lay  a  strange  suggestion  that  frightened 
me  before  I  could  argue  it  away.  Exact  counterpart 
of  its  giant  companion,  it  revealed  also  that  gross, 
odious  quality  that  all  my  sister's  paintings  held.  I 
got  the  odd  impression  that  the  rest  of  these  trees, 
stretching  away  dimly  in  a  troop  over  the  farther 
lawns,  were  similar,  and  that,  led  by  this  enormous 
pair,  they  had  all  moved  boldly  closer  to  my  windows. 
At  the  same  moment  a  blind  was  drawn  down  over 
an  upper  room  ;  the  second  tree  disappeared  into  the 
surrounding  darkness.  It  was,  of  course,  this  chance 
light  that  had  brought  it  into  the  field  of  vision,  but 
when  the  black  shutter  dropped  over  it,  hiding  it 
from  view,  the  manner  of  its  vanishing  produced  the 
queer  effect  that  it  had  slipped  into  its  companion — 
almost  that  it  had  been  an  emanation  of  the  one  I  so 
disliked,  and  not  really  a  tree  at  all !  In  this  way  the 
garden  turned  vehicle  for  expressing  what  lay  behind 
it  all !   .   .   . 

The  behaviour  of  the  doors,  the  little,  ordinary 
doors,  seems  scarcely  worth  mention  at  all,  their 
queer  way  of  opening  and  shutting  of  their  own 
accord  ;  for  this  was  accountable  in  a  hundred 
natural  ways,  and  to  tell  the  truth,  I  never  caught 
one  in  the  act  of  moving.  Indeed,  only  after  frequent 
repetitions  did  the  detail  force  itself  upon  me,  when, 
having  noticed  one,  I  noticed  all.  It  produced,  how- 
ever, the  unpleasant  impression  of  a  continual  coming 
and  going  in  the  house,  as  though,  screened  cleverly 

Q 


226         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

and  purposely  from  actual  sight,  some  one  in  the 
building  held  constant  invisible  intercourse  with — 
others. 

Upon  detailed  descriptions  of  these  uncertain 
incidents  I  do  not  venture,  individually  so  trivial, 
but  taken  all  together  so  impressive  and  so  insolent. 
But  the  episode  of  the  children,  mentioned  above,  was 
different.  And  I  give  it  because  it  showed  how 
vividly  the  intuitive  child-mind  received  the  impres- 
sion— one  impression,  at  any  rate — of  what  was  in 
the  air.  It  may  be  told  in  a  very  few  words.  I 
believe  they  were  the  coachman's  children,  and  that 
the  man  had  been  in  Mr.  Franklyn's  service  ;  but  of 
neither  point  am  I  quite  positive.  I  heard  screaming 
in  the  rose-garden  that  runs  along  the  stable  walls — 
it  was  one  afternoon  not  far  from  the  tea-hour — and 
on  hurrying  up  I  found  a  little  girl  of  nine  or 
ten  fastened  with  ropes  to  a  rustic  seat,  and  two 
other  children — boys,  one  about  twelve  and  one  much 
younger — gathering  sticks  beneath  the  climbing  rose- 
trees.  The  girl  was  white  and  frightened,  but  the 
others  were  laughing  and  talking  among  themselves 
so  busily  while  they  picked  that  they  did  not  notice 
my  abrupt  arrival.  Some  game,  I  understood,  was 
in  progress,  but  a  game  that  had  become  too  serious 
for  the  happiness  of  the  prisoner,  for  there  was  a  fear 
in  the  girl's  eyes  that  was  a  very  genuine  fear  indeed. 
I  unfastened  her  at  once  ;  the  ropes  were  so  loosely 
and  clumsily  knotted  that  they  had  not  hurt  her  skin  ; 
it  was  not  that  which  made  her  pale.  She  collapsed 
a  moment  upon  the  bench,  then  picked  up  her  tiny 
skirts  and  dived  away  at  full  speed  into  the  safety  of 
the  stable-yard.  There  was  no  response  to  my  brief 
comforting,  but  she  ran  as  though  for  her  life,  and  I 
divined  that  some  horrid  boys'  cruelty  had  been  afoot. 


THE  DAMNED  227 

It  was  probably  mere  thoughtlessness,  as  cruelty  with 
children  usually  is,  but  something  in  me  decided  to 
discover  exactly  what  it  was. 

And  the  boys,  not  one  whit  alarmed  at  my  inter- 
vention, merely  laughed  shyly  when  I  explained  that 
their  prisoner  had  escaped,  and  told  me  frankly  what 
their  '  gime '  had  been.  There  was  no  vestige  of 
shame  in  them,  nor  any  idea,  of  course,  that  they 
aped  a  monstrous  reality.  That  it  was  mere  pretence 
was  neither  here  nor  there.  To  them,  though  make- 
believe,  it  was  a  make-believe  of  something  that  was 
right  and  natural  and  in  no  sense  cruel.  Grown-ups 
did  it  too.      It  was  necessary  for  her  good. 

'  We  was  going  to  burn  her  up,  sir,'  the  older 
one  informed  me,  answering  my  '  Why  ? '  with  the 
explanation,  '  Because  she  wouldn't  believe  what  we 
wanted  'er  to  believe.' 

And,  game  though  it  was,  the  feeling  of  reality 
about  the  little  episode  was  so  arresting,  so  terrific 
in  some  way,  that  only  with  difficulty  did  I  confine 
my  admonitions  on  this  occasion  to  mere  words. 
The  boys  slunk  off",  frightened  in  their  turn,  yet  not, 
I  felt,  convinced  that  they  had  erred  in  principle.  It 
was  their  inheritance.  They  had  breathed  it  in  with 
the  atmosphere  of  their  bringing-up.  They  would 
renew  the  salutary  torture  when  they  could — till  she 
'  believed  '  as  they  did. 

I  went  back  into  the  house,  afflicted  with  a  passion 
of  mingled  pity  and  distress  impossible  to  describe, 
yet  on  my  short  way  across  the  garden  was  attacked 
by  other  moods  in  turn,  each  more  real  and  bitter 
than  its  predecessor.  I  received  the  whole  series,  as 
it  were,  at  once.  I  felt  like  a  diver  rising  to  the 
surface  through  layers  of  water  at  different  tempera- 
tures, though  here  the  natural  order  was  reversed,  and 


228         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

the  cooler  strata  were  uppermost,  the  heated  ones 
below.  Thus,  I  was  caught  by  the  goblin  touch  of 
the  willows  that  fringed  the  field  ;  by  the  sensuous 
curving  of  the  twisted  ash  that  formed  a  gateway  to 
the  little  grove  of  sapling  oaks  where  fauns  and  satyrs 
lurked  to  play  in  the  moonlight  before  Pagan  altars  ; 
and  by  the  cloaking  darkness,  next,  of  the  copse  of 
stunted  pines,  close  gathered  each  to  each,  where 
hooded  figures  stalked  behind  an  awful  cross.  The 
episode  with  the  children  seemed  to  have  opened  me 
like  a  knife.     The  whole  Place  rushed  at  me. 

I  suspect  this  synthesis  of  many  moods  produced 
in  me  that  climax  of  loathing  and  disgust  which  made 
me  feel  the  limit  of  bearable  emotion  had  been 
reached,  so  that  I  made  straight  to  find  Frances  in 
order  to  convince  her  that  at  any  rate  /  must  leave. 
For,  although  this  was  our  last  day  in  the  house,  and 
we  had  arranged  to  go  next  day,  the  dread  was  in 
me  that  she  would  still  find  some  persuasive  reason 
for  staying  on.  And  an  unexpected  incident  then 
made  my  dread  unnecessary.  The  front  door  was 
open  and  a  cab  stood  in  the  drive  ;  a  tall,  elderly 
man  was  gravely  talking  in  the  hall  with  the  parlour- 
maid we  called  the  Grenadier.  He  held  a  piece  of 
paper  in  his  hand.  '  I  have  called  to  see  the  house,' 
I  heard  him  say,  as  I  ran  up  the  stairs  to  Frances, 
who  was  peering  like  an  inquisitive  child  over  the 
banisters.   .   .   . 

'  Yes,'  she  told  me  with  a  sigh,  I  know  not 
whether  of  resignation  or  relief,  '  the  house  is  to  be 
let  or  sold.  Mabel  has  decided.  Some  Society  or 
other,  I  believe ' 

I  was  overjoyed  :  this  made  our  leaving  right 
and  possible.     '  You  never  told  me,  Frances  !  ' 

'  Mabel  only  heard  of  it  a  few  days  ago.     She 


THE  DAMNED  229 

told  me  herself  this  morning.  It  is  a  chance,  she 
says.     Alone  she  cannot  get  it  "  straight." 

*  Defeat  ? '   I  asked,  watching  her  closely. 

'  She  thinks  she  has  found  a  way  out.  It's  not  a 
family,  you  see,  it's  a  Society,  a  sort  of  Community — 
they  go  in  for  thought ' 

'  A  Community  !  '  I  gasped.  '  You  mean  re- 
ligious ? ' 

She  shook  her  head.  'Not  exactly,'  she  said 
smiling,  '  but  some  kind  of  association  of  men  and 
women  who  want  a  headquarters  in  the  country — 
a  place  where  they  can  write  and  meditate — think — 
mature  their  plans  and  all  the  rest — I  don't  know 
exactly  what.' 

'  Utopian  dreamers  ? '  I  asked,  yet  feeling  an 
immense  relief  come  over  me  as  I  heard.  But  I 
asked  in  ignorance,  not  cynically.  Frances  would 
know.     She  knew  all  this  kind  of  thing. 

'  No,  not  that  exactly,'  she  smiled.  '  Their  teach- 
ings are  grand  and  simple — old  as  the  world  too, 
really — the  basis  of  every  religion  before  men's  mind 
perverted  them  with  their  manufactured  creeds ' 

Footsteps  on  the  stairs,  and  the  sound  of  voices, 
interrupted  our  odd  impromptu  conversation,  as  the 
Grenadier  came  up,  followed  by  the  tall,  grave 
gentleman  who  was  being  shown  over  the  house. 
My  sister  drew  me  along  the  corridor  towards  her 
room,  where  she  went  in  and  closed  the  door  behind 
me,  yet  not  before  I  had  stolen  a  good  look  at  the 
caller — long  enough,  at  least,  for  his  face  and  general 
appearance  to  have  made  a  definite  impression  on  me. 
For  something  strong  and  peaceful  emanated  from  his 
presence  ;  he  moved  with  such  quiet  dignity  ;  the 
glance  of  his  eyes  was  so  steady  and  reassuring,  that 
my  mind  labelled  him  instantly  as  a  type  of  man  one 


230         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

would  turn  to  in  an  emergency  and  not  be  dis- 
appointed. I  had  seen  him  but  for  a  passing  moment, 
but  I  had  seen  him  twice,  and  the  way  he  walked 
down  the  passage,  looking  competently  about  him, 
conveyed  the  same  impression  as  when  I  saw  him 
standing  at  the  door — fearless,  tolerant,  wise.  '  A 
sincere  and  kindly  character,'  I  judged  instantly,  '  a 
man  whom  some  big  kind  of  love  has  trained  in 
sweetness  towards  the  world  ;  no  hate  in  him  any- 
where.' A  great  deal,  no  doubt,  to  read  in  so  brief 
a  glance  !  Yet  his  voice  confirmed  my  intuition, 
a  deep  and  very  gentle  voice,  great  firmness  in  it 
too. 

1  Have  I  become  suddenly  sensitive  to  people's 
atmospheres  in  this  extraordinary  fashion  ? '  I  asked 
myself,  smiling,  as  I  stood  in  the  room  and  heard 
the  door  close  behind  me.  '  Have  I  developed  some 
clairvoyant  faculty  here  ? '  At  any  other  time  I 
should  have  mocked. 

And  I  sat  down  and  faced  my  sister,  feeling 
strangely  comforted  and  at  peace  for  the  first  time 
since  I  had  stepped  beneath  The  Towers'  roof  a 
month  ago.  Frances,  I  then  saw,  was  smiling  a 
little  as  she  watched  me. 

*  You  know  him  ?  '  I  asked. 

'  You  felt  it  too  ? '  was  her  question  in  reply. 
'  No,'  she  added,  '  I  don't  know  him — beyond  the 
fact  that  he  is  a  leader  in  the  Movement  and  has 
devoted  years  and  money  to  its  objects.  Mabel 
felt  the  same  thing  in  him  that  you  have  felt — and 
jumped  at  it.' 

1  But  you've  seen  him  before  ? '  I  urged,  for  the 
certainty  was  in  me  that  he  was  no  stranger  to  her. 

She  shook  her  head.  '  He  called  one  day  early 
this  week,  when  you  were  out.      Mabel  saw  him.     I 


THE  DAMNED  231 

believe '  she  hesitated  a  moment,  as  though  ex- 
pecting me  to  stop  her  with  my  usual  impatience  of 
such  subjects — '  I  believe  he  has  explained  everything 
t0  her — the  beliefs  he  embodies,  she  declares,  are 
her  salvation — might  be,  rather,  if  she  could  adopt 
them.' 

'  Conversion  again  !  '  For  I  remembered  her 
riches,  and  how  gladly  a  Society  would  gobble  them. 

1  The  layers  I  told  you  about,'  she  continued 
calmly,  shrugging  her  shoulders  slightly — '  the  de- 
posits that  are  left  behind  by  strong  thinking  and 
real  belief — but  especially  by  ugly,  hateful  belief, 
because,  you  see — unfortunately  there's  more  vital 
passion  in  that  sort ' 

'  Frances,  I  don't  understand  a  bit,'  I  said  out 
loud,  but  said  it  a  little  humbly,  for  the  impression 
the  man  had  left  was  still  strong  upon  me  and  I  was 
grateful  for  the  steady  sense  of  peace  and  comfort  he 
had  somehow  introduced.  The  horrors  had  been  so 
dreadful.  My  nerves,  doubtless,  were  more  than  a 
little  overstrained.  Absurd  as  it  must  sound,  I 
classed  him  in  my  mind  with  the  robins,  the  happy, 
confiding  robins  who  believed  in  everybody  and 
thought  no  evil  !  I  laughed  a  moment  at  my 
ridiculous  idea,  and  my  sister,  encouraged  by  this 
sign  of  patience  in  me,  continued  more  fluently. 

'  Of  course  you  don't  understand,  Bill  ?  Why 
should  you  ?  You've  never  thought  about  such 
things.  Needing  no  creed  yourself,  you  think  all 
creeds  are  rubbish.' 

1  I'm  open  to  conviction — I'm  tolerant,'  I  inter- 
rupted. 

'  You're  as  narrow  as  Sam  Franklyn,  and  as 
crammed  with  prejudice,'  she  answered,  knowing 
that  she  had  me  at  her  mercy. 


232  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

*  Then,  pray,  what  may  be  his,  or  his  Society's 
beliefs  ? '  I  asked,  feeling  no  desire  to  argue,  *  and 
how  are  they  going  to  prove  your  Mabel's  salvation  ? 
Can  they  bring  beauty  into  all  this  aggressive  hate 
and  ugliness  ? ' 

'  Certain  hope  and  peace,'  she  said,  '  that  peace 
which  is  understanding,  and  that  understanding  which 
explains  all  creeds  and  therefore  tolerates  them.' 

'  Toleration  !  The  one  word  a  religious  man 
loathes  above  all  others  !  His  pet  word  is  damna- 
tion  ' 

'  Tolerates  them,'  she  repeated  patiently,  un- 
perturbed by  my  explosion,  '  because  it  includes 
them  all.' 

*  Fine,  if  true,'  I  admitted,  '  very  fine.  But  how, 
pray,  does  it  include  them  all  ? ' 

'  Because  the  key-word,  the  motto,  of  their  Society 
is,  "  There  is  no  religion  higher  than  Truth,"  and  it 
has  no  single  dogma  of  any  kind.  Above  all,'  she 
went  on,  '  because  it  claims  that  no  individual  can  be 
"  lost."  It  teaches  universal  salvation.  To  damn 
outsiders  is  uncivilised,  childish,  impure.  Some  take 
longer  than  others — it's  according  to  the  way  they 
think  and  live — but  all  find  peace,  through  develop- 
ment, in  the  end.  What  the  creeds  call  a  hopeless 
soul,  it  regards  as  a  soul  having  further  to  go.  There 
is  no  damnation ' 

'  Well,  well,'  I  exclaimed,  feeling  that  she  rode  her 
hobby-horse  too  wildly,  too  roughly  over  me,  '  but 
what  is  the  bearing  of  all  this  upon  this  dreadful 
place,  and  upon  Mabel  ?  I'll  admit  that  there  is 
this  atmosphere — this — er — inexplicable  horror  in 
the  house  and  grounds,  and  that  if  not  of  damnation 
exactly,  it  is  certainly  damnable.  I'm  not  too  pre- 
judiced to  deny  that,  for  I've  felt  it  myself.' 


THE  DAMNED  233 

To  my  relief  she  was  brief.  She  made  her  state- 
ment, leaving  me  to  take  it  or  reject  it  as  I  would. 

c  The  thought  and  belief  its  former  occupants — 
have  left  behind.  For  there  has  been  coincidence 
here,  a  coincidence  that  must  be  rare.  The  site  on 
which  this  modern  house  now  stands  was  Roman, 
before  that  Early  Britain,  with  burial  mounds,  before 
that  again,  Druid — the  Druid  stones  still  lie  in  that 
copse  below  the  field,  the  Tumuli  among  the  ilexes 
behind  the  drive.  The  older  building  Sam  Franklyn 
altered  and  practically  pulled  down  was  a  monastery ; 
he  changed  the  chapel  into  a  meeting  hall,  which  is 
now  the  music  room  ;  but,  before  he  came  here,  the 
house  was  occupied  by  Manetti,  a  violent  Catholic 
without  tolerance  or  vision  ;  and  in  the  interval  be- 
tween these  two,  Julius  Weinbaum  had  it,  Hebrew  of 
most  rigid  orthodox  type  imaginable — so  they  all  have 
left  their ' 

*  Even  so,'  I  repeated,  yet  interested  to  hear  the 
rest,  '  what  of  it  ? ' 

'  Simply  this,'  said  Frances  with  conviction,  '  that 
each  in  turn  has  left  his  layer  of  concentrated  think- 
ing and  belief  behind  him  ;  because  each  believed 
intensely,  absolutely,  beyond  the  least  weakening  of 
any  doubt — the  kind  of  strong  belief  and  thinking 
that  is  rare  anywhere  to-day,  the  kind  that  wills, 
impregnates  objects,  saturates  the  atmosphere,  haunts, 
in  a  word.  And  each,  believing  he  was  utterly 
and  finally  right,  damned  with  equally  positive  con- 
viction the  rest  of  the  world.  One  and  all  preached 
that  implicitly  if  not  explicitly.  It's  the  root  of  every 
creed.  Last  of  the  bigoted,  grim  series  came  Samuel 
Franklyn.' 

I  listened  in  amazement  that  increased  as  she  went 
on.     Up  to  this  point  her  explanation  was  so  admir- 


234         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

able.     It  was,  indeed,  a  pretty  study  in  psychology  if 
it  were  true. 

1  Then  why  does  nothing  ever  happen  ? '  I  enquired 
mildly.  '  A  place  so  thickly  haunted  ought  to  pro- 
duce a  crop  of  no  ordinary  results  !  ' 

'  There  lies  the  proof,'  she  went  on  in  a  lowered 
voice,  '  the  proof  of  the  horror  and  the  ugly  reality. 
The  thought  and  belief  of  each  occupant  in  turn 
kept  all  the  others  under.  They  gave  no  sign  of  life 
at  the  time.  But  the  results  of  thinking  never  die. 
They  crop  out  again  the  moment  there's  an  opening. 
And,  with  the  return  of  Mabel  in  her  negative  state, 
believing  nothing  positive  herself,  the  place  for  the 
first  time  found  itself  free  to  reproduce  its  buried 
stores.  Damnation,  hell-fire,  and  the  rest — the  most 
permanent  and  vital  thought  of  all  those  creeds,  since 
it  was  applied  to  the  majority  of  the  world — broke 
loose  again,  for  there  was  no  restraint  to  hold  it  back. 
Each  sought  to  obtain  its  former  supremacy.  None 
conquered.  There  results  a  pandemonium  of  hate 
and  fear,  of  striving  to  escape,  of  agonised,  bitter 
warring  to  find  safety,  peace — salvation.  The  place 
is  saturated  by  that  appalling  stream  of  thinking — ■ 
the  terror  of  the  damned.  It  concentrated  upon 
Mabel,  whose  negative  attitude  furnished  the  channel 
of  deliverance.  You  and  I,  according  to  our  sym- 
pathy with  her,  were  similarly  involved.  Nothing 
happened,  because  no  one  layer  could  ever  gain  the 
supremacy.' 

I  was  so  interested — I  dare  not  say  amused — that 
I  stared  in  silence  while  she  paused  a  moment,  afraid 
that  she  would  draw  rein  and  end  the  fairytale  too  soon. 
'The  beliefs  of  this  man,  of  his  Society  rather, 
vigorously  thought  and  therefore  vigorously  given 
out  here,  will  put  the  whole  place  straight.      It  will 


THE  DAMNED  235 

act  as  a  solvent.  These  vitriolic  layers  actively 
denied,  will  fuse  and  disappear  in  the  stream  of 
gentle,  tolerant  sympathy  which  is  love.  For  each 
member,  worthy  of  the  name,  loves  the  world,  and 
all  creeds  go  into  the  melting-pot  ;  Mabel,  too,  if 
she  joins  them  out  of  real  conviction,  will  find 
salvation ' 

'  Thinking,  I  know,  is  of  the  first  importance,'  I 
objected,  'but  don't  you,  perhaps,  exaggerate  the 
power  of  feeling  and  emotion  which  in  religion  are 
au  fond  always  hysterical  ? ' 

'  What  is  the  world,'  she  told  me,  *  but  thinking 
and  feeling  ?  An  individual's  world  is  entirely  what 
that  individual  thinks  and  believes — interpretation. 
There  is  no  other.  And  unless  he  really  thinks  and 
really  believes,  he  has  no  permanent  world  at  all. 
I  grant  that  few  people  think,  and  still  fewer 
believe,  and  that  most  take  ready-made  suits  and 
make  them  do.  Only  the  strong  make  their  own 
things  ;  the  lesser  fry,  Mabel  among  them,  are 
merely  swept  up  into  what  has  been  manufactured 
for  them.  They  get  along  somehow.  You  and  I 
have  made  for  ourselves,  Mabel  has  not.  She  is  a 
nonentity,  and  when  her  belief  is  taken  from  her, 
she  goes  with  it.' 

It  was  not  in  me  just  then  to  criticise  the  evasion, 
or  pick  out  the  sophistry  from  the  truth.  1  merely 
waited  for  her  to  continue. 

'  None  of  us  have  Truth,  my  dear  Frances,'  I 
ventured  presently,  seeing  that  she  kept  silent. 

'Precisely,' she  answered, 'but  mostofus  have  beliefs. 
And  what  one  believes  and  thinks  affects  the  world 
at  large.  Consider  the  legacy  of  hatred  and  cruelty 
involved  in  the  doctrines  men  have  built  into  their 
creeds  where  the  sine  qua  non  of  salvation  is  absolute 


236  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

acceptance  of  one  particular  set  of  views  or  else 
perishing  everlastingly  —  for  only  by  repudiating 
history  can  they  disavow  it ' 

'  You're  not  quite  accurate,'  I  put  in.  '  Not  all 
the  creeds  teach  damnation,  do  they  ?  Franklyn 
did,  of  course,  but  the  others  are  a  bit  modernised 
now  surely  ?  ' 

'  Trying  to  get  out  of  it,'  she  admitted,  c  perhaps 
they  are,  but  damnation  of  unbelievers — of  most  of 
the  world,  that  is — is  their  rather  favourite  idea  if 
you  talk  with  them.' 

'  I  never  have.' 

She  smiled.  '  But  I  have,'  she  said  significantly, 
'  So,  if  you  consider  what  the  various  occupants  of 
this  house  have  so  strongly  held  and  thought  and 
believed,  you  need  not  be  surprised  that  the  influence 
they  have  left  behind  them  should  be  a  dark 
and  dreadful  legacy.  For  thought,  you  know,  does 
leave ' 

The  opening  of  the  door,  to  my  great  relief, 
interrupted  her,  as  the  Grenadier  led  in  the  visitor  to 
see  the  room.  He  bowed  to  both  of  us  with  a  brief 
word  of  apology,  looked  round  him,  and  withdrew, 
and  with  his  departure  the  conversation  between  us 
came  naturally  to  an  end.  I  followed  him  out. 
Neither  of  us  in  any  case,  I  think,  cared  to  argue 
further. 

And,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  the  curious  history  of 
The  Towers  ends  here  too.  There  was  no  climax 
in  the  story  sense.  Nothing  ever  really  happened. 
We  left  next  morning  for  London.  I  only  know 
that  the  Society  in  question  took  the  house  and  have 
since  occupied  it  to  their  entire  satisfaction,  and  that 
Mabel,   who  became   a   member  shortly   afterwards, 


THE  DAMNED  237 

now  stays  there  frequently  when  in  need  of  repose 
from  the  arduous  and  unselfish  labours  she  took  upon 
herself  under  its  aegis.  She  dined  with  us  only  the 
other  night,  here  in  our  tiny  Chelsea  flat,  and  a 
jollier,  saner,  more  interesting  and  happy  guest  I 
could  hardly  wish  for.  She  was  vital — in  the  best 
sense  ;  the  lay-figure  had  come  to  life.  I  found  it 
difficult  to  believe  she  was  the  same  woman  whose 
fearful  effigy  had  floated  down  those  dreary  corridors 
and  almost  disappeared  in  the  depths  of  that  atrocious 
Shadow. 

What  her  beliefs  were  now  I  was  wise  enough  to 
leave  unquestioned,  and  Frances,  to  my  great  relief, 
kept  the  conversation  well  away  from  such  inappro- 
priate topics.  It  was  clear,  however,  that  the  woman 
had  in  herself  some  secret  source  of  joy,  that  she  was 
now  an  aggressive,  positive  force,  sure  of  herself,  and 
apparently  afraid  of  nothing  in  heaven  or  hell.  She 
radiated  something  very  like  hope  and  courage  about 
her,  and  talked  as  though  the  world  were  a  glorious 
place  and  everybody  in  it  kind  and  beautiful.  Her 
optimism  was  certainly  infectious. 

The  Towers  were  mentioned  only  in  passing. 
The  name  of  Marsh  came  up — not  the  Marsh,  it  so 
happened,  but  a  name  in  some  book  that  was  being 
discussed  —  and  I  was  unable  to  restrain  myself. 
Curiosity  was  too  strong.  I  threw  out  a  casual 
enquiry  Mabel  could  leave  unanswered  if  she  wished. 
But  there  was  no  desire  to  avoid  it.  Her  reply  was 
frank  and  smiling. 

'  Would  you  believe  it  ?  She  married,'  Mabel 
told  me,  though  obviously  surprised  that  I  remem- 
bered the  housekeeper  at  all  ;  '  and  is  happy  as  the 
day  is  long.  She's  found  her  right  niche  in  life. 
A  sergeant ' 


238  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

1  The  army  !  '  I  ejaculated. 

'  Salvation  Army,'  she  explained  merrily. 

Frances  exchanged  a  glance  with  me.  I  laughed 
too,  for  the  information  took  me  by  surprise.  I 
cannot  say  why  exactly,  but  I  expected  at  least  to 
hear  that  the  woman  had  met  some  dreadful  end,  not 
impossibly  by  burning. 

'  And  The  Towers,  now  called  the  Rest  House,' 
Mabel  chattered  on,  '  seems  to  me  the  most  peaceful 
and  delightful  spot  in  England ' 

'  Really,'  I  said  politely. 

*  When  I  lived  there  in  the  old  days — while  you 
were  there,  perhaps,  though  I  won't  be  sure,'  Mabel 
went  on,  *  the  story  got  abroad  that  it  was  haunted. 
Wasn't  it  odd  ?  A  less  likely  place  for  a  ghost  I've 
never  seen.  Why,  it  had  no  atmosphere  at  all.'  She 
said  this  to  Frances,  glancing  up  at  me  with  a  smile 
that  apparently  had  no  hidden  meaning.  '  Did  you 
notice  anything  queer  about  it  when  you  were  there  ? ' 

This  was  plainly  addressed  to  me. 

'  I  found  it — er— difficult  to  settle  down  to  any- 
thing,' I  said,  after  an  instant's  hesitation.  I  couldn't 
work  there ' 

*  But  I  thought  you  wrote  that  wonderful  book  on 
the  Deaf  and  Blind  while  you  stayed  with  me,'  she 
asked  innocently. 

I  stammered  a  little.  *  Oh  no,  not  then.  I  only 
made  a  few  notes — er — at  The  Towers.  My  mind, 
oddly  enough,  refused  to  produce  at  all  down  there. 
But — why  do  you  ask  ?  Did  anything — was  any- 
thing supposed  to  happen  there  ? ' 

She  looked  searchingly  into  my  eyes  a  moment 
before  she  answered  : 

*  Not  that  I  know  of,'  she  said  simply. 


A   DESCENT  INTO   EGYPT 


239 


A   DESCENT   INTO   EGYPT 

I 

He  was  an  accomplished,  versatile  man  whom  some 
called  brilliant.  Behind  his  talents  lay  a  wealth  of 
material  that  right  selection  could  have  lifted  into 
genuine  distinction.  He  did  too  many  things,  how- 
ever, to  excel  in  one,  for  a  restless  curiosity  kept  him 
ever  on  the  move.  George  Isley  was  an  able  man. 
His  short  career  in  diplomacy  proved  it ;  yet,  when 
he  abandoned  this  for  travel  and  exploration,  no  one 
thought  it  a  pity.  He  would  do  big  things  in  any 
line.     He  was  merely  finding  himself. 

Among  the  rolling  stones  of  humanity  a  few 
acquire  moss  of  considerable  value.  They  are  not 
necessarily  shiftless  ;  they  travel  light  ;  the  comfort- 
able pockets  in  the  game  of  life  that  attract  the 
majority  are  too  small  to  retain  them  ;  they  are  in 
and  out  again  in  a  moment.  The  world  says,  *  What 
a  pity  !  They  stick  to  nothing  ! '  but  the  fact  is  that, 
like  questing  wild  birds,  they  seek  the  nest  they  need. 
It  is  a  question  of  values.  They  judge  swiftly,  change 
their  line  of  flight,  are  gone,  not  even  hearing  the 
comment  that  they  might  have  '  retired  with  a 
pension.' 

And  to  this  homeless,  questing  type  George  Isley 
certainly  belonged.     He  was  by  no  means  shiftless. 

241  R 


242  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

He  merely  sought  with  insatiable  yearning  that  soft 
particular  nest  where  he  could  settle  down  in  perman- 
ently. And  to  an  accompaniment  of  sighs  and  regrets 
from  his  friends  he  found  it ;  he  found  it,  however, 
not  in  the  present,  but  by  retiring  from  the  world 
'  without  a  pension,'  unclothed  with  honours  and 
distinctions.  He  withdrew  from  the  present  and 
slipped  softly  back  into  a  mighty  Past  where  he 
belonged.  Why  ;  how  ;  obeying  what  strange  in- 
stincts— this  remains  unknown,  deep  secret  of  an 
inner  life  that  found  no  resting-place  in  modern 
things.  Such  instincts  are  not  disclosable  in  twentieth- 
century  language,  nor  are  the  details  of  such  a  journey 
properly  describable  at  all.  Except  by  the  few — 
poets,  prophets,  psychiatrists  and  the  like — such 
experiences  are  dismissed  with  the  neat  museum  label 
— '  queer.' 

So,  equally,  must  the  recorder  of  this  experience 
share  the  honour  of  that  little  label — he  who  by 
chance  witnessed  certain  external  and  visible  signs  of 
this  inner  and  spiritual  journey.  There  remains, 
nevertheless,  the  amazing  reality  of  the  experience  ; 
and  to  the  recorder  alone  was  some  clue  of  interpre- 
tation possible,  perhaps,  because  in  himself  also  lay 
the  lure,  though  less  imperative,  of  a  similar  journey. 
At  any  rate  the  interpretation  may  be  offered  to  the 
handful  who  realise  that  trains  and  motors  are  not 
the  only  means  of  travel  left  to  our  progressive  race. 

In  his  younger  days  I  knew  George  Isley  inti- 
mately. I  know  him  now.  But  the  George  Isley  I 
knew  of  old,  the  arresting  personality  with  whom 
I  travelled,  climbed,  explored,  is  no  longer  with  us. 
He  is  not  here.  He  disappeared — gradually — into 
the  past.  There  is  no  George  Isley.  And  that  such 
an  individuality  could   vanish,  while    still  his  outer 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  243 

semblance  walks  the  familiar  streets,  normal  appar- 
ently, and  not  yet  fifty  in  the  number  of  his  years, 
seems  a  tale,  though  difficult,  well  worth  the  telling. 
For  I  witnessed  the  slow  submergence.  It  was  very 
gradual.  I  cannot  pretend  to  understand  the  entire 
significance  of  it.  There  was  something  question- 
able and  sinister  in  the  business  that  offered  hints 
of  astonishing  possibilities.  Were  there  a  corps  of 
spiritual  police,  the  matter  might  be  partially  cleared 
up,  but  since  none  of  the  churches  have  yet  organised 
anything  effective  of  this  sort,  one  can  only  fall  back, 
upon  variants  of  the  blessed  *  Mesopotamia,'  and 
whisper  of  derangement,  and  the  like.  Such  labels, 
of  course,  explain  as  little  as  most  other  cliches  in  life. 
That  well-groomed,  soldierly  figure  strolling  down 
Piccadilly,  watching  the  Races,  dining  out — there  is 
no  derangement  there.  The  face  is  not  melancholy, 
the  eye  not  wild  ;  the  gestures  are  quiet  and  the 
speech  controlled.  Yet  the  eye  is  empty,  the  face 
expressionless.  Vacancy  reigns  there,  provocative 
and  significant.  If  not  unduly  noticeable,  it  is 
because  the  majority  in  life  neither  expect,  nor  offer, 
more. 

At  closer  quarters  you  may  think  questioning 
things,  or  you  may  think — nothing  ;  probably  the 
latter.  You  may  wonder  why  something  continually 
expected  does  not  make  its  appearance  ;  and  you 
may  watch  for  the  evidence  of  '  personality '  the 
general  presentment  of  the  man  has  led  you  to 
expect.  Disappointed,  therefore,  you  may  certainly 
be  ;  but  I  defy  you  to  discover  the  smallest  hint  of 
mental  disorder,  and  of  derangement  or  nervous 
affliction,  absolutely  nothing.  Before  long,  perhaps, 
you  may  feel  you  are  talking  with  a  dummy,  some 
well-trained  automaton,  a  nonentity  devoid  of  spon- 


244         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

taneous  life  ;  and  afterwards  you  may  find  that 
memory  fades  rapidly  away,  as  though  no  impression 
of  any  kind  has  really  been  made  at  all.  All  this, 
yes ;  but  nothing  pathological.  A  few  may  be 
stimulated  by  this  startling  discrepancy  between 
promise  and  performance,  but  most,  accustomed  to 
accept  face  values,  would  say,  '  a  pleasant  fellow,  but 
nothing  in  him  much  .  .  .'  and  an  hour  later  forget 
him  altogether. 

For  the  truth  is  as  you,  perhaps,  divined.  You 
have  been  sitting  beside  no  one,  you  have  been  talking 
to,  looking  at,  listening  to — no  one.  The  intercourse 
has  conveyed  nothing  that  can  waken  human  response 
in  you,  good,  bad  or  indifferent.  There  is  no  George 
Isley.  And  the  discovery,  if  you  make  it,  will  not 
even  cause  you  to  creep  with  the  uncanniness  of  the 
experience,  because  the  exterior  is  so  wholly  pleasing. 
George  Isley  to-day  is  a  picture  with  no  meaning  in 
it  that  charms  merely  by  the  harmonious  colouring 
of  an  inoffensive  subject.  He  moves  undiscovered  in 
the  little  world  of  society  to  which  he  was  born, 
secure  in  the  groove  first  habit  has  made  comfortably 
automatic  for  him.  No  one  guesses  ;  none,  that  is, 
but  the  few  who  knew  him  intimately  in  early  life. 
And  his  wandering  existence  has  scattered  these ; 
they  have  forgotten  what  he  was.  So  perfect,  indeed, 
is  he  in  the  manners  of  the  commonplace  fashionable 
man,  that  no  woman  in  his  '  set '  is  aware  that 
he  differs  from  the  type  she  is  accustomed  to.  He 
turns  a  compliment  with  the  accepted  language  of 
her  text-book,  motors,  golfs  and  gambles  in  the  regu- 
lation manner  of  his  particular  world.  He  is  an 
admirable,  perfect  automaton.  He  is  nothing.  He 
is  a  human  shell. 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  245 

II 

The  name  of  George  Isley  had  been  before  the 
public  for  some  years  when,  after  a  considerable 
interval,  we  met  again  in  a  hotel  in  Egypt,  I  for  my 
health,  he  for  I  knew  not  what — at  first.  But  I  soon 
discovered  :  archaeology  and  excavation  had  taken 
hold  of  him,  though  he  had  gone  so  quietly  about 
it  that  no  one  seemed  to  have  heard.  I  was  not 
sure  that  he  was  glad  to  see  me,  for  he  had  first 
withdrawn,  annoyed,  it  seemed,  at  being  discovered, 
but  later,  as  though  after  consideration,  had  made 
tentative  advances.  He  welcomed  me  with  a  curious 
gesture  of  the  entire  body  that  seemed  to  shake  him- 
self free  from  something  that  had  made  him  forget 
my  identity.  There  was  pathos  somewhere  in  his 
attitude,  almost  as  though  he  asked  for  sympathy. 
1  I've  been  out  here,  off  and  on,  for  the  last  three 
years,'  he  told  me,  after  describing  something  of 
what  he  had  been  doing.  '  I  find  it  the  most  repaying 
hobby  in  the  world.  It  leads  to  a  reconstruction — 
an  imaginative  reconstruction,  of  course,  I  mean — of 
an  enormous  thing  the  world  had  entirely  lost.  A 
very  gorgeous,  stimulating  hobby,  believe  me,  and 
a  very  entic — '  he  quickly  changed  the  word — 
1  exacting  one  indeed.' 

I  remember  looking  him  up  and  down  with 
astonishment.  There  was  a  change  in  him,  a  lack  ; 
a  note  was  missing  in  his  enthusiasm,  a  colour  in  the 
voice,  a  quality  in  his  manner.  The  ingredients 
were  not  mixed  quite  as  of  old.  I  did  not  bother 
him  with  questions,  but  I  noted  thus  at  the  very  first 
a  subtle  alteration.  Another  facet  of  the  man  pre- 
sented itself.  Something  that  had  been  independent 
and  aggressive  was  replaced   by  a  certain  emptiness 


246         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

that  invited  sympathy.  Even  in  his  physical  appear- 
ance the  change  was  manifested — this  odd  suggestion 
of  lessening.  I  looked  again  more  closely.  Lessen- 
ing was  the  word.  He  had  somehow  dwindled.  It 
was  startling,  vaguely  unpleasant  too. 

The  entire  subject,  as  usual,  was  at  his  finger- 
tips ;  he  knew  all  the  important  men  ;  and  had  spent 
money  freely  on  his  hobby.  I  laughed,  reminding 
him  of  his  remark  that  Egypt  had  no  attractions  for 
him,  owing  to  the  organised  advertisement  of  its 
somewhat  theatrical  charms.  Admitting  his  error 
with  a  gesture,  he  brushed  the  objection  easily  aside. 
His  manner,  and  a  certain  glow  that  rose  about 
his  atmosphere  as  he  answered,  increased  my  first 
astonishment.  His  voice  was  significant  and  sug- 
gestive. '  Come  out  with  me,'  he  said  in  a  low  tone, 
'  and  see  how  little  the  tourists  matter,  how  inappre- 
ciable the  excavation  is  compared  to  what  remains  to 
be  done,  how  gigantic' — he  emphasised  the  word 
impressively  — ■ '  the  scope  for  discovery  remains.' 
He  made  a  movement  with  his  head  and  shoulders 
that  conveyed  a  sense  of  the  prodigious,  for  he  was 
of  massive  build,  his  cast  of  features  stern,  and  his 
eyes,  set  deep  into  the  face,  shone  past  me  with  a 
sombre  gleam  in  them  I  did  not  quite  account  for. 
It  was  the  voice,  however,  that  brought  the  mystery 
in.  It  vibrated  somewhere  below  the  actual  sound 
of  it.  *  Egypt,'  he  continued — and  so  gravely  that 
at  first  I  made  the  mistake  of  thinking  he  chose  the 
curious  words  on  purpose  to  produce  a  theatrical 
effect — '  that  has  enriched  her  blood  with  the  pageant 
of  so  many  civilisations,  that  has  devoured  Persians, 
Greeks  and  Romans,  Saracens  and  Mamelukes,  a 
dozen  conquests  and  invasions  besides, — what  can 
mere    tourists   or   explorers    matter   to    her  ?      The 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  247 

excavators  scratch  their  skin  and  dig  up  mummies  ; 
and  as  for  tourists  !  ' — he  laughed  contemptuously — 
'  flies  that  settle  for  a  moment  on  her  covered  face, 
to  vanish  at  the  first  signs  of  heat !  Egypt  is  not 
even  aware  of  them.  The  real  Egypt  lies  under- 
ground in  darkness.  Tourists  must  have  light,  to  be 
seen  as  well  as  to  see.     And  the  diggers !  ' 

He  paused,  smiling  with  something  between  pity 
and  contempt  I  did  not  quite  appreciate,  for, personally, 
I  felt  a  great  respect  for  the  tireless  excavators.  And 
then  he  added,  with  a  touch  of  feeling  in  his  tone  as 
though  he  had  a  grievance  against  them,  and  had  not 
also  '  dug  '  himself,  '  Men  who  uncover  the  dead, 
restore  the  temples,  and  reconstruct  a  skeleton, 
thinking  they  have  read  its  beating  heart.  .  .  .'  He 
shrugged  his  great  shoulders,  and  the  rest  of  the 
sentence  may  have  been  but  the  protest  of  a  man  in 
defence  of  his  own  hobby,  but  that  there  seemed  an 
undue  earnestness  and  gravity  about  it  that  made  me 
wonder  more  than  ever.  He  went  on  to  speak  of 
the  strangeness  of  the  land  as  a  mere  ribbon  of 
vegetation  along  the  ancient  river,  the  rest  all  ruins, 
desert,  sun-drenched  wilderness  of  death,  yet  so 
breakingly  alive  with  wonder,  power  and  a  certain 
disquieting  sense  of  deathlessness.  There  seemed,  for 
him,  a  revelation  of  unusual  spiritual  kind  in  this  land 
where  the  Past  survived  so  potently.  He  spoke 
almost  as  though  it  obliterated  the  Present. 

Indeed,  the  hint  of  something  solemn  behind  his 
words  made  it  difficult  for  me  to  keep  up  the 
conversation,  and  the  pause  that  presently  came  I 
filled  in  with  some  word  of  questioning  surprise, 
which  yet,  I  think,  was  chiefly  in  concurrence^  I 
was  aware  of  some  big  belief  in  him,  some  enveloping 
emotion  that  escaped  my  grasp.     Yet,  though  I  did 


248         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

not  understand,  his  great  mood  swept  me.  .  .  .  His 
voice  lowered,  then,  as  he  went  on  to  mention 
temples,  tombs  and  deities,  details  of  his  own  dis- 
coveries and  of  their  effect  upon  him,  but  to  this  I 
listened  with  half  an  ear,  because  in  the  unusual 
language  he  had  first  made  use  of  I  detected  this 
other  thing  that  stirred  my  curiosity  more — stirred 
it  uncomfortably. 

'  Then  the  spell,'  I  asked,  remembering  the  effect 
of  Egypt  upon  myself  two  years  before,  '  has  worked 
upon  you  as  upon  most  others,  only  with  greater 
power  ? ' 

He  looked  hard  at  me  a  moment,  signs  of  trouble 
showing  themselves  faintly  in  his  rugged,  interesting 
face.  I  think  he  wanted  to  say  more  than  he  could 
bring  himself  to  confess.     He  hesitated. 

'  I'm  only  glad,'  he  replied  after  a  pause,  '  it 
didn't  get  hold  of  me  earlier  in  life.  It  would  have 
absorbed  me.  I  should  have  lost  all  other  interests. 
Now,' — that  curious  look  of  helplessness,  of  asking 
sympathy,  flitted  like  a  shadow  through  his  eyes 
— '  now  that  I'm  on  the  decline  ...  it  matters 
less.' 

On  the  decline !  I  cannot  imagine  by  what 
blundering  I  missed  this  chance  he  never  offered 
again  ;  somehow  or  other  the  singular  phrase  passed 
unnoticed  at  the  moment,  and  only  came  upon  me 
with  its  full  significance  later  when  it  was  too 
awkward  to  refer  to  it.  He  tested  my  readiness  to 
help,  to  sympathise,  to  share  his  inner  life.  I  missed 
the  clue.  For,  at  the  moment,  a  more  practical 
consideration  interested  me  in  his  language.  Being 
of  those  who  regretted  that  he  had  not  excelled  by 
devoting  his  powers  to  a  single  object,  I  shrugged 
my  shoulders.     He   caught  my    meaning  instantly. 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  249 

Oh,  he  was  glad  to  talk.  He  felt  the  possibility  of 
my  sympathy  underneath,  1  think. 

'  No,  no,  you  take  me  wrongly  there,'  he  said 
with  gravity.  'What  I  mean — and  I  ought  to  know 
if  any  one  does  ! — is  that  while  most  countries  give, 
others  take  away.  Egypt  changes  you.  No  one 
can  live  here  and  remain  exactly  what  he  was 
before.' 

This  puzzled  me.  It  startled,  too,  again.  His 
manner  was  so  earnest.  *  And  Egypt,  you  mean,  is 
one  of  the  countries  that  take  away  ? '  I  asked.  The 
strange  idea  unsettled  my  thoughts  a  little. 

'  First  takes  away  from  you,'  he  replied,  '  but  in 
the  end  takes  you  away.  Some  lands  enrich  you,'  he 
went  on,  seeing  that  I  listened,  '  while  others  im- 
poverish. From  India,  Greece,  Italy,  all  ancient 
lands,  you  return  with  memories  you  can  use.  From 
Egypt  you  return  with — nothing.  Its  splendour 
stupefies  ;  it's  useless.  There  is  a  change  in  your 
inmost  being,  an  emptiness,  an  unaccountable  yearn-, 
ing,  but  you  find  nothing  that  can  fill  the  lack  you're 
conscious  of.  Nothing  comes  to  replace  what  has 
gone.     You  have  been  drained.' 

I  stared  ;  but  I  nodded  a  general  acquiescence. 
Of  a  sensitive,  artistic  temperament  this  was  certainly 
true,  though  by  no  means  the  superficial  and  generally 
accepted  verdict.  The  majority  imagine  that  Egypt 
has  filled  them  to  the  brim.  I  took  his  deeper 
reading  of  the  facts.  I  was  aware  of  an  odd  fascina- 
tion in  his  idea. 

'  Modern  Egypt,'  he  continued,  '  is,  after  all,  but 
a  trick  of  civilisation,'  and  there  was  a  kind  of 
breathlessness  in  his  measured  tone,  *  but  ancient 
Egypt  lies  waiting,  hiding,  underneath.  Though 
dead,   she    is    amazingly    alive.     And    you  feel   her 


250         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

touching  you.  She  takes  from  you.  She  enriches 
herself.  You  return  from  Egypt  —  less  than  you 
were  before.' 

What  came  over  my  mind  is  hard  to  say.  Some 
touch  of  visionary  imagination  burned  its  flaming 
path  across  my  mind.  I  thought  of  some  old 
Grecian  hero  speaking  of  his  delicious  battle  with  the 
gods — battle  in  which  he  knew  he  must  be  worsted, 
but  yet  in  which  he  delighted  because  at  death  his 
spirit  would  join  their  glorious  company  beyond  this 
world.  I  was  aware,  that  is  to  say,  of  resignation 
as  well  as  resistance  in  him.  He  already  felt  the 
effortless  peace  which  follows  upon  long,  unequal 
battling,  as  of  a  man  who  has  fought  the  rapids  with 
a  strain  beyond  his  strength,  then  sinks  back  and 
goes  with  the  awful  mass  of  water  smoothly  and 
indifferently — over  the  quiet  fall. 

Yet,  it  was  not  so  much  his  words  which  clothed 
picturesquely  an  undeniable  truth,  as  the  force  of 
conviction  that  drove  behind  them,  shrouding  my 
mind  with  mystery  and  darkness.  His  eyes,  so 
steadily  holding  mine,  were  lit,  I  admit,  yet  they 
were  calm  and  sane  as  those  of  a  doctor  discussing 
the  symptoms  of  that  daily  battle  to  which  we  all 
finally  succumb.     This  analogy  occurred  to  me. 

'  There  is ' — I  stammered  a  little,  faltering  in  my 
speech — '  an  incalculable  element  in  the  country  .  .  . 
somewhere,  I  confess.  You  put  it — rather  strongly, 
though,  don't  you  ? ' 

He  answered  quietly,  moving  his  eyes  from  my 
face  towards  the  window  that  framed  the  serene  and 
exquisite  sky  towards  the  Nile. 

'  The  real,  invisible  Egypt,'  he  murmured,  « I  do 
find  rather — strong.  I  find  it  difficult  to  deal  with. 
You  see,'  and  he  turned  towards  me,  smiling  like  a 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  251 

tired  child,  '  I  think  the  truth  is  that  Egypt  deals 
with  me.' 

'  It  draws '  I  began,  then  started  as  he  inter- 
rupted me  at  once. 

'  Into  the  Past.'  He  uttered  the  little  word  in  a 
way  beyond  me  to  describe.  There  came  a  flood  of 
glory  with  it,  a  sense  of  peace  and  beauty,  of  battles 
over  and  of  rest  attained.  No  saint  could  have 
brimmed  '  Heaven '  with  as  much  passionately  en- 
ticing meaning.  He  went  willingly,  prolonging  the 
struggle  merely  to  enjoy  the  greater  relief  and  joy 
of  the  consummation. 

For  again  he  spoke  as  though  a  struggle  were  in 
progress  in  his  being.  I  got  the  impression  that  he 
somewhere  wanted  help.  I  understood  the  pathetic 
quality  I  had  vaguely  discerned  already.  His  char- 
acter naturally  was  so  strong  and  independent.  It 
now  seemed  weaker,  as  though  certain  fibres  had 
been  drawn  out.  And  I  understood  then  that  the 
spell  of  Egypt,  so  lightly  chattered  about  in  its 
sensational  aspect,  so  rarely  known  in  its  naked 
power,  the  nameless,  creeping  influence  that  begins 
deep  below  the  surface  and  thence  sends  delicate 
tendrils  outwards,  was  in  his  blood.  I,  in  my  un- 
taught ignorance,  had  felt  it  too  ;  it  is  undeniable  ; 
one  is  aware  of  unaccountable,  queer  things  in 
Egypt ;  even  the  utterly  prosaic  feel  them.  Dead 
Egypt  is  marvellously  alive.  .   .   . 

I  glanced  past  him  out  of  the  big  windows  where 
the  desert  glimmered  in  its  featureless  expanse  of 
yellow  leagues,  two  monstrous  pyramids  signalling 
from  across  the  Nile,  and  for  a  moment — inexpli- 
cably, it  seemed  to  me  afterwards — I  lost  sight  of 
my  companion's  stalwart  figure  that  was  yet  so 
close  before  my  eyes.     He  had  risen  from  his  chair  ; 


252  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

he  was  standing  near  me  ;  yet  my  sight  missed  him 
altogether.  Something,  dim  as  a  shadow,  faint  as  a 
breath  of  air,  rose  up  and  bore  my  thoughts  away, 
obliterating  vision  too.  I  forgot  for  a  moment  who 
I  was  ;  identity  slipped  from  me.  Thought,  sight, 
feeling,  all  sank  away  into  the  emptiness  of  those 
sun-baked  sands,  sank,  as  it  were,  into  nothingness, 
caught  away  from  the  Present,  enticed,  absorbed. 
.  .  .  And  when  I  looked  back  again  to  answer  him, 
or  rather  to  ask  what  his  curious  words  could  mean 
— he  was  no  longer  there.  More  than  surprised — for 
there  was  something  of  shock  in  the  disappearance — 
I  turned  to  search.  I  had  not  seen  him  go.  He 
had  stolen  from  my  side  so  softly,  slipped  away 
silently,  mysteriously,  and — so  easily.  I  remember 
that  a  faint  shiver  ran  down  my  back  as  I  realised 
that  I  was  alone. 

Was  it  that,  momentarily,  I  had  caught  a  reflex 
of  his  state  of  mind  ?  Had  my  sympathy  induced 
in  myself  an  echo  of  what  he  experienced  in  full — 
a  going  backwards,  a  loss  of  present  vigour,  the  en- 
ticing, subtle  draw  of  those  immeasurable  sands  that 
hide  the  living  dead  from  the  interruptions  of  the 
careless  living  .   .   .    ? 

I  sat  down  to  reflect  and,  incidentally,  to  watch 
the  magnificence  of  the  sunset ;  and  the  thing  he 
had  said  returned  upon  me  with  insistent  power, 
ringing  like  distant  bells  within  my  mind.  His  talk 
of  the  tombs  and  temples  passed,  but  this  remained. 
It  stimulated  oddly.  His  talk,  I  remembered,  had 
always  excited  curiosity  in  this  way.  Some  countries 
give,  while  others  take  away.  What  did  he  mean 
precisely  ?  What  had  Egypt  taken  away  from  him  ? 
And  I  realised  more  definitely  that  something  in  him 
was  missing,  something  he  possessed  in  former  years 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  253 

that  was  now  no  longer  there.  He  had  grown 
shadowy  already  in  my  thoughts.  The  mind 
searched  keenly,  but  in  vain  .  .  .  and  after  some 
time  I  left  my  chair  and  moved  over  to  another 
window,  aware  that  a  vague  discomfort  stirred  within 
me  that  involved  uneasiness — for  him.  I  felt  pity. 
But  behind  the  pity  was  an  eager,  absorbing 
curiosity  as  well.  He  seemed  receding  curiously 
into  misty  distance,  and  the  strong  desire  leaped 
in  me  to  overtake,  to  travel  with  him  into  some 
vanished  splendour  that  he  had  rediscovered.  The 
feeling  was  a  most  remarkable  one,  for  it  included 
yearning — the  yearning  for  some  nameless,  for- 
gotten loveliness  the  world  has  lost.  It  was  in  me 
too. 

At  the  approach  of  twilight  the  mind  loves  to 
harbour  shadows.  The  room,  empty  of  guests,  was 
dark  behind  me  ;  darkness,  too,  was  creeping  across 
the  desert  like  a  veil,  deepening  the  serenity  of  its 
grim,  unfeatured  face.  It  turned  pale  with  distance  ; 
the  whole  great  sheet  of  it  went  rustling  into  night. 
The  first  stars  peeped  and  twinkled,  hanging  loosely 
in  the  air  as  though  they  could  be  plucked  like 
golden  berries  ;  and  the  sun  was  already  below  the 
Libyan  horizon,  where  gold  and  crimson  faded 
through  violet  into  blue.  I  stood  watching  this 
mysterious  Egyptian  dusk,  while  an  eerie  glamour 
seemed  to  bring  the  incredible  within  uneasy  reach 
of  the  half-faltering  senses.  .  .  .  And  suddenly  the 
truth  dropped  into  me.  Over  George  Isley,  over 
his  mind  and  energies,  over  his  thoughts  and  over 
his  emotions  too,  a  kind  of  darkness  was  also  slowly 
creeping.  Something  in  him  had  dimmed,  yet  not 
with  age  ;  it  had  gone  out.  Some  inner  night, 
stealing  over  the  Present,  obliterated  it.     And  yet 


254         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

he  looked  towards  the  dawn.  Like  the  Egyptian 
monuments  his  eyes  turned — eastwards. 

And  so  it  came  to  me  that  what  he  had  lost  was 
personal  ambition.  He  was  glad,  he  said,  that  these 
Egyptian  studies  had  not  caught  him  earlier  in  life  ; 
the  language  he  made  use  of  was  peculiar  :  '  Now  I 
am  on  the  decline  it  matters  less.'  A  slight  founda- 
tion, no  doubt,  to  build  conviction  on,  and  yet  I  felt 
sure  that  I  was  partly  right.  He  was  fascinated, 
but  fascinated  against  his  will.  The  Present  in  him 
battled  against  the  Past.  Still  fighting,  he  had  yet 
lost  hope.  The  desire  not  to  change  was  now  no 
longer  in  him.  .   .   . 

I  turned  away  from  the  window  so  as  not  to  see 
that  grey,  encroaching  desert,  for  the  discovery  pro- 
duced a  certain  agitation  in  me.  Egypt  seemed 
suddenly  a  living  entity  of  enormous  power.  She 
stirred  about  me.  She  was  stirring  now.  This  flat 
and  motionless  land  pretending  it  had  no  movement, 
was  actually  busy  with  a  million  gestures  that  came 
creeping  round  the  heart.  She  was  reducing  him. 
Already  from  the  complex  texture  of  his  personality 
she  had  drawn  one  vital  thread  that  in  its  relation 
to  the  general  woof  was  of  central  importance — 
ambition.  The  mind  chose  the  simile  ;  but  in  my 
heart  where  thought  fluttered  in  singular  distress, 
another  suggested  itself  as  truer.  '  Thread  '  changed 
to  'artery.'  I  turned  quickly  and  went  up  to  my 
room  where  I  could  be  alone.  The  idea  was  some- 
where ghastly. 

Ill 

Yet,  while  dressing  for  dinner,  the  idea  exfoliated 
as  only  a  living  thing  exfoliates.      I  saw  in  George 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  255 

Isley  this  great  question  mark  that  had  not  been 
there  formerly.  All  have,  of  course,  some  question 
mark,  and  carry  it  about,  though  with  most  it 
rarely  becomes  visible  until  the  end.  With  him  it 
was  plainly  visible  in  his  atmosphere  at  the  hey-day 
of  his  life.  He  wore  it  like  a  fine  curved  scimitar 
above  his  head.  So  full  of  life,  he  yet  seemed 
willingly  dead.  For,  though  imagination  sought 
every  possible  explanation,  I  got  no  further  than  the 
somewhat  negative  result  —  that  a  certain  energy, 
wholly  unconnected  with  mere  physical  health,  had 
been  withdrawn.  It  was  more  than  ambition,  I 
think,  for  it  included  intention,  desire,  self-confidence 
as  well.  It  was  life  itself.  He  was  no  longer  in 
the  Present.      He  was  no  longer  here. 

1  Some  countries  give  while  others  take  away.  .  .  . 
I  find  Egypt  difficult  to  deal  with.  I  find  it  .  .  .' 
and  then  that  simple,  uncomplex  adjective — '  strong.' 
In  memory  and  experience  the  entire  globe  was 
mapped  for  him  ;  it  remained  for  Egypt,  then,  to 
teach  him  this  marvellous  new  thing.  But  not 
Egypt  of  to-day  ;  it  was  vanished  Egypt  that  had 
robbed  him  of  his  strength.  He  had  described  it 
as  underground,  hidden,  waiting.  ...  I  was  again 
aware  of  a  faint  shuddering — as  though  something 
crept  secretly  from  my  inmost  heart  to  share  the 
experience  with  him,  and  as  though  my  sympathy 
involved  a  willing  consent  that  this  should  be  so. 
With  sympathy  there  must  always  be  a  shedding  of 
the  personal  self;  each  time  I  felt  this  sympathy, 
it  seemed  that  something  left  me.  I  thought  in 
circles,  arriving  at  no  definite  point  where  I  could 
rest  and  say  '  that's  it  ;  I  understand.'  The  giving 
attitude  of  a  country  was  easily  comprehensible  ;  but 
this  idea  of  robbery,  of  deprivation  baffled  me.    An 


256         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

obscure  alarm  took  hold  of  me — for  myself  as  well 
as  for  him. 

At  dinner,  where  he  invited  me  to  his  table,  the 
impression  passed  off  a  good  deal,  however,  and  I 
convicted  myself  of  a  woman's  exaggeration  ;  yet, 
as  we  talked  of  many  a  day's  adventure  together 
in  other  lands,  it  struck  me  that  we  oddly  left  the 
present  out.  We  ignored  to-day.  His  thoughts, 
as  it  were,  went  most  easily  backwards.  And  each 
adventure  led,  as  by  its  own  natural  weight  and 
impetus,  towards  one  thing — the  enormous  glory  of 
a  vanished  age.  Ancient  Egypt  was  '  home '  in  this 
mysterious  game  life  played  with  death.  The  specific 
gravity  of  his  being,  to  say  nothing  for  the  moment 
of  my  own,  had  shifted  lower,  farther  off,  backwards 
and  below,  or  as  he  put  it — underground.  The  sink- 
ing sensation  I  experienced  was  of  a  literal  kind.  .   .  . 

And  so  I  found  myself  wondering  what  had  led 
him  to  this  particular  hotel.  I  had  come  out  with  an 
affected  organ  the  specialist  promised  me  would  heal 
in  the  marvellous  air  of  Helouan,  but  it  was  queer 
that  my  companion  also  should  have  chosen  it.  Its 
clientele  was  mostly  invalid,  German  and  Russian 
invalid  at  that.  The  Management  set  its  face 
against  the  lighter,  gayer  side  of  life  that  hotels  in 
Egypt  usually  encourage  eagerly.  It  was  a  true 
rest-house,  a  place  of  repose  and  leisure,  a  place 
where  one  could  remain  undiscovered  and  unknown. 
No  English  patronised  it.  One  might  easily — the 
idea  came  unbidden,  suddenly — hide  in  it. 

'Then  you're  doing  nothing  just  now,'  I  asked, 
'  in  the  way  of  digging  ?  No  big  expeditions  or 
excavating  at  the  moment  ? ' 

<  I'm  recuperating,'  he  answered  carelessly.  '  I've 
have  had  two  years  up  at  the  Valley  of  the  Kings,  and 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  257 

overdid  it  rather.  But  I'm  by  way  of  working  at  a 
little  thing  near  here  across  the  Nile.'  And  he 
pointed  in  the  direction  of  Sakkhara,  where  the 
huge  Memphian  cemetery  stretches  underground 
from  the  Dachur  Pyramids  to  the  Gizeh  monsters, 
four  miles  lower  down.  *  There's  a  matter  of  a 
hundred  years  in  that  alone  ! ' 

'  You  must  have  accumulated  a  mass  of  interesting 
material.  I  suppose  later  you'll  make  use  of  it — a 
book  or ' 

His  expression  stopped  me — that  strange  look  in 
the  eyes  that  had  stirred  my  first  uneasiness.  It  was 
as  if  something  struggled  up  a  moment,  looked 
bleakly  out  upon  the  present,  then  sank  away  again. 

'  More,'  he  answered  listlessly,  '  than  I  can  ever 
use.  It's  much  more  likely  to  use  me.'  He  said  it 
hurriedly,  looking  over  his  shoulder  as  though  some 
one  might  be  listening,  then  smiled  significantly, 
bringing  his  eyes  back  upon  my  own  again.  I  told 
him  that  he  was  far  too  modest.  '  If  all  the  ex- 
cavators thought  like  that,'  I  added,  '  we  ignorant 
ones  should  suffer.'  I  laughed,  but  the  laughter 
was  only  on  my  lips. 

He  shook  his  head  indifferently.  '  They  do  their 
best  ;  they  do  wonders,'  he  replied,  making  an  in- 
describable gesture  as  though  he  withdrew  willingly 
from  the  topic  altogether,  yet  could  not  quite  achieve 
it.  '  I  know  their  books  ;  I  know  the  writers  too — 
of  various  nationalities.'  He  paused  a  moment,  and 
his  eyes  turned  grave.  '  I  cannot  understand  quite 
— how  they  do  it,'  he  added  half  below  his  breath. 

*  The  labour,  you  mean  ?  The  strain  of  the 
climate,  and  so  forth  ? '  I  said  this  purposely,  for 
I  knew  quite  well  he  meant  another  thing.  The 
way  he  looked  into  my  face,  however,  disturbed  me 

s 


25 8  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

so  that  I  believe  I  visibly  started.  Something  very 
deep  in  me  sat  up  alertly  listening,  almost  on  guard. 

*  I  mean,'  he  replied,  '  that  they  must  have  un- 
common powers  of  resistance.' 

There  !  He  had  used  the  very  word  that  had  been 
hiding  in  me  !  *  It  puzzles  me,'  he  went  on,  '  for, 
with  one  exception,  they  are  not  unusual  men.  In 
the  way  of  gifts — oh  yes.  It's  in  the  way  of  resist- 
ance and  protection  that  I  mean.  Self-protection,' 
he  added  with  emphasis. 

It  was  the  way  he  said  '  resistance '  and  '  self-protec- 
tion '  that  sent  a  touch  of  cold  through  me.  I  learned 
later  that  he  himself  had  made  surprising  discoveries 
in  these  two  years,  penetrating  closer  to  the  secret 
life  of  ancient  sacerdotal  Egypt  than  any  of  his 
predecessors  or  co-labourers — then,  inexplicably,  had 
ceased.  But  this  was  told  to  me  afterwards  and  by 
others.  At  the  moment  I  was  only  conscious  of  this 
odd  embarrassment.  I  did  not  understand,  yet  felt 
that  he  touched  upon  something  intimately  personal 
to  himself.     He  paused,  expecting  me  to  speak. 

'  Egypt,  perhaps,  merely  pours  through  them,'  I 
ventured.  '  They  give  out  mechanically,  hardly 
realising  how  much  they  give.  They  report  facts 
devoid  of  interpretation.  Whereas  with  you  it's 
the  actual  spirit  of  the  past  that  is  discovered  and 
laid  bare.  You  live  it.  You  feel  old  Egypt  and 
disclose  her.  That  divining  faculty  was  always  yours 
— uncannily,  I  used  to  think.' 

The  flash  of  his  sombre  eyes  betrayed  that  my 
aim  was  singularly  good.  It  seemed  a  third  had 
silently  joined  our  little  table  in  the  corner.  Some- 
thing intruded,  evoked  by  the  power  of  what  our 
conversation  skirted  but  ever  left  unmentioned. 
It  was    huge    and    shadowy  ;    it  was  also  watchful. 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  259 

Egypt  came  gliding,  floating  up  beside  us.  I  saw 
her  reflected  in  his  face  and  gaze.  The  desert 
slipped  in  through  walls  and  ceiling,  rising  from 
beneath  our  feet,  settling  about  us,  listening,  peer- 
ing, waiting.  The  strange  obsession  was  sudden  and 
complete.  The  gigantic  scale  of  her  swam  in  among 
the  very  pillars,  arches,  and  windows  of  that  modern 
dining-room.  I  felt  against  my  skin  the  touch  of 
chilly  air  that  sunlight  never  reaches,  stealing  from 
beneath  the  granite  monoliths.  Behind  it  came  the 
stifling  breath  of  the  heated  tombs,  of  the  Serapeum, 
of  the  chambers  and  corridors  in  the  pyramids. 
There  was  a  rustling  as  of  myriad  footsteps  far 
away,  and  as  of  sand  the  busy  winds  go  shifting 
through  the  ages.  And  in  startling  contrast  to  this 
impression  of  prodigious  size,  Isley  himself  wore 
suddenly  an  air  of  strangely  dwindling.  For  a 
second  he  shrank  visibly  before  my  very  eyes.  He 
was  receding.  His  outline  seemed  to  retreat  and 
lessen,  as  though  he  stood  to  the  waist  in  what 
appeared  like  flowing  mist,  only  his  head  and 
shoulders  still  above  the  ground.  Far,  far  away  I 
saw  him. 

It  was  a  vivid  inner  picture  that  I  somehow 
transferred  objectively.  It  was  a  dramatised  sensa- 
tion, of  course.  His  former  phrase  '  now  that  I 
am  declining '  flashed  back  upon  me  with  sharp  dis- 
comfort. Again,  perhaps,  his  state  of  mind  was 
reflected  into  me  by  some  emotional  telepathy.  I 
waited,  conscious  of  an  almost  sensible  oppression 
that  would  not  lift.  It  seemed  an  age  before  he 
spoke,  and  when  he  did  there  was  the  tremor  of 
feeling  in  his  voice  he  sought  nevertheless  to  repress. 
I  kept  my  eyes  on  the  table  for  some  reason.  But  I 
listened  intently. 


26o         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

1  It's  you  that  have  the  divining  faculty,  not  I,'  he 
said,  an  odd  note  of  distance  even  in  his  tone,  yet  a 
resonance  as  though  it  rose  up  between  reverberating 
walls.  '  There  is,  I  believe,  something  here  that 
resents  too  close  inquiry,  or  rather  that  resists  dis- 
covery— almost — takes  offence.' 

I  looked  up  quickly,  then  looked  down  again.  It 
was  such  a  startling  thing  to  hear  on  the  lips  of  a 
modern  Englishman.  He  spoke  lightly,  but  the  ex- 
pression of  his  face  belied  the  careless  tone.  There 
was  no  mockery  in  those  earnest  eyes,  and  in  the 
hushed  voice  was  a  little  creeping  sound  that  gave 
me  once  again  the  touch  of  goose-flesh.  The  only 
word  I  can  find  is  '  subterranean  ' :  all  that  was  mental 
in  him  had  sunk,  so  that  he  seemed  speaking  under- 
ground, head  and  shoulders  alone  visible.  The  effect 
was  almost  ghastly. 

'  Such  extraordinary  obstacles  are  put  in  one's 
way,'  he  went  on,  '  when  the  prying  gets  too  close 
to  the — reality  ;  physical,  external  obstacles,  I  mean. 
Either  that,  or — the  mind  loses  its  assimilative  facul- 
ties. One  or  other  happens — '  his  voice  died  down 
into  a  whisper — '  and  discovery  ceases  of  its  own 
accord.' 

The  same  minute,  then,  he  suddenly  raised  him- 
self like  a  man  emerging  from  a  tomb  ;  he  leaned 
across  the  table  ;  he  made  an  effort  of  some  violent 
internal  kind,  on  the  verge,  I  fully  believe,  of  a 
pregnant  personal  statement.  There  was  confession 
in  his  attitude  ;  I  think  he  was  about  to  speak  of  his 
work  at  Thebes  and  the  reason  for  its  abrupt  cessa- 
tion. For  I  had  the  feeling  of  one  about  to  hear  a 
weighty  secret,  the  responsibility  unwelcome.  This 
uncomfortable  emotion  rose  in  me,  as  I  raised  my 
eyes  to  his  somewhat  unwillingly,  only  to  find  that 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  261 

I  was  wholly  at  fault.  It  was  not  me  he  was 
looking  at.  He  was  staring  past  me  in  the  direction 
of  the  wide,  unshuttered  windows.  The  expression 
of  yearning  was  visible  in  his  eyes  again.  Something 
had  stopped  his  utterance. 

And  instinctively  I  turned  and  saw  what  he  saw. 
So  far  as  external  details  were  concerned,  at  least,  I 
saw  it. 

Across  the  glare  and  glitter  of  the  uncompromising 
modern  dining-room,  past  crowded  tables,  and  over 
the  heads  of  Germans  reeding  unpicturesquely,  I  saw 
— the  moon.  Her  reddish  disc,  hanging  unreal  and 
enormous,  lifted  the  spread  sheet  of  desert  till  it 
floated  off  the  surface  of  the  world.  The  great 
window  faced  the  east,  where  the  Arabian  desert 
breaks  into  a  ruin  of  gorges,  cliffs,  and  flat-topped 
ridges  ;  it  looked  unfriendly,  ominous,  with  danger 
in  it  ;  unlike  the  serener  sand-dunes  of  the  Libyan 
desert,  there  lay  both  menace  and  seduction  behind 
its  flood  of  shadows.  And  the  moonlight  emphasised 
this  aspect  :  its  ghostly  desolation,  its  cruelty,  its 
bleak  hostility,  turning  it  murderous.  For  no  river 
sweetens  this  Arabian  desert  ;  instead  of  sandy  soft- 
ness, it  has  fangs  of  limestone  rock,  sharp  and  aggres- 
sive. Across  it,  just  visible  in  the  moonlight  as  a 
thread  of  paler  grey,  the  old  camel-trail  to  Suez 
beckoned  faintly.  And  it  was  this  that  he  was  look- 
ing at  so  intently. 

It  was,  I  know,  a  theatrical  stage-like  glimpse,  yet 
in  it  a  seductiveness  most  potent.  '  Come  out,'  it 
seemed  to  whisper,  '  and  taste  my  awful  beauty. 
Come  out  and  lose  yourself,  and  die.  Come  out  and 
follow  my  moonlit  trail  into  the  Past  .  .  .  where 
there  is  peace  and  immobility  and  silence.  My 
kingdom  is  unchanging  underground.     Come  down, 


262         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

come  softly,  come  through  sandy  corridors  below  this 
tinsel  of  your  modern  world.  Come  back,  come 
down  into  my  golden  past ' 

A  poignant  desire  stole  through  my  heart  on 
moonlit  feet  ;  I  was  personally  conscious  of  a  keen 
yearning  to  slip  away  in  unresisting  obedience.  For 
it  was  uncommonly  impressive,  this  sudden,  haunting 
glimpse  of  the  world  outside.  The  hairy  foreigners, 
uncouthly  garbed,  all  busily  eating  in  full  electric 
light,  provided  a  sensational  contrast  of  emphatically 
distressing  kind.  A  touch  of  what  is  called  unearthly 
hovered  about  that  distance  through  the  window. 
There  was  weirdness  in  it.  Egypt  looked  in  upon 
us.  Egypt  watched  and  listened,  beckoning  through 
the  moonlit  windows  of  the  heart  to  come  and  find 
her.  Mind  and  imagination  might  flounder  as  they 
pleased,  but  something  of  this  kind  happened  un- 
deniably, whether  expression  in  language  fails  to  hold 
the  truth  or  not.  And  George  Isley,  aware  of 
being  seen,  looked  straight  into  the  awful  visage — 
fascinated. 

Over  the  bronze  of  his  skin  there  stole  a  shade  of 
grey.  My  own  feeling  of  enticement  grew — the 
desire  to  go  out  into  the  moonlight,  to  leave  my  kind 
and  wander  blindly  through  the  desert,  to  see  the 
gorges  in  their  shining  silver,  and  taste  the  keenness 
of  the  cool,  sharp  air.  Further  than  this  with  me  it 
did  not  go,  but  that  my  companion  felt  the  bigger, 
deeper  draw  behind  this  surface  glamour,  I  have  no 
reasonable  doubt.  For  a  moment,  indeed,  I  thought 
he  meant  to  leave  the  table  ;  he  had  half  risen  in  his 
chair  ;  it  seemed  he  struggled  and  resisted — and  then 
his  big  frame  subsided  again  ;  he  sat  back  ;  he 
looked,  in  the  attitude  his  body  took,  less  impressive, 
smaller,  actually  shrunken  into  the    proportions    of 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  263 

some  minuter  scale.  It  was  as  though  something  in 
that  second  had  been  drawn  out  of  him,  decreasing 
even  his  physical  appearance.  The  voice,  when  he 
spoke  presently  with  a  touch  of  resignation,  held  a 
lifeless  quality  as  though  deprived  of  virile  timbre. 

1  It's  always  there,'  he  whispered,  half  collapsing 
back  into  his  chair,  '  it's  always  watching,  waiting, 
listening.  Almost  like  a  monster  of  the  fables,  isn't 
it  ?  It  makes  no  movement  of  its  own,  you  see. 
It's  far  too  strong  for  that.  It  just  hangs  there,  half 
in  the  air  and  half  upon  the  earth — a  gigantic  web. 
Its  prey  flies  into  it.  That's  Egypt  all  over.  D'you 
feel  like  that  too,  or  does  it  seem  to  you  just  imagin- 
ative rubbish  ?  To  me  it  seems  that  she  just  waits 
her  time  ;  she  gets  you  quicker  that  way  ;  in  the  end 
you're  bound  to  go.' 

'  There's  power  certainly,'  I  said  after  a  moment's 
pause  to  collect  my  wits,  my  distress  increased  by  the 
morbidness  of  his  simile.  '  For  some  minds  there 
may  be  a  kind  of  terror  too — for  weak  temperaments 
that  are  all  imagination.'  My  thoughts  were  scattered, 
and  I  could  not  readily  find  good  words.  '  There  is 
startling  grandeur  in  a  sight  like  that,  for  instance,' 
and  I  pointed  to  the  window.  '  You  feel  drawn — as 
if  you  simply  had  to  go.'  My  mind  still  buzzed  with 
his  curious  words,  *  In  the  end  you're  bound  to  go.' 
It  betrayed  his  heart  and  soul.  '  I  suppose  a  fly  does 
feel  drawn,'  I  added,  « or  a  moth  to  the  destroying 
flame.     Or  is  it  just  unconscious  on  their  part  ?  ' 

He  jerked  his  big  head  significantly.  '  Well, 
well,'  he  answered,  'but  the  fly  isn't  necessarily 
weak,  or  the  moth  misguided.  Over-adventurous, 
perhaps,  yet  both  obedient  to  the  laws  of  their 
respective  beings.  They  get  warnings  too — only, 
when  the  moth  wants  to  know  too  much,  the  fire 


264         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

stops  it.  Both  flame  and  spider  enrich  themselves  by 
understanding  the  natures  of  their  prey  ;  and  fly  and 
moth  return  again  and  again  until  this  is  accom- 
plished.' 

Yet  George  Isley  was  as  sane  as  the  head  waiter 
who,  noticing  our  interest  in  the  window,  came  up 
just  then  and  enquired  whether  we  felt  a  draught  and 
would  prefer  it  closed.  Isley,  I  realised,  was  strug- 
gling to  express  a  passionate  state  of  soul  for  which, 
owing  to  its  rarity,  no  adequate  expression  lies  at 
hand.  There  is  a  language  of  the  mind,  but  there  is 
none  as  yet  of  the  spirit.  I  felt  ill  at  ease.  All  this 
was  so  foreign  to  the  wholesome,  strenuous  person- 
ality of  the  man  as  I  remembered  it. 

'But,  my  dear  fellow,'  I  stammered,  'aren't  you 
giving  poor  old  Egypt  a  bad  name  she  hardly 
deserves  ?  I  feel  only  the  amazing  strength  and 
beauty  of  it  ;  awe,  if  you  like,  but  none  of  this 
resentment  you  so  mysteriously  hint  at.' 

'You  understand,  for  all  that,'  he  answered 
quietly  ;  and  again  he  seemed  on  the  verge  of  some 
significant  confession  that  might  ease  his  soul.  My 
uncomfortable  emotion  grew.  Certainly  he  was  at 
high  pressure  somewhere.  '  And,  if  necessary,  you 
could  help.  Your  sympathy,  I  mean,  is  a  help 
already.'  He  said  it  half  to  himself  and  in  a  suddenly 
lowered  tone  again. 

'  A  help  !  '  I  gasped.  *  My  sympathy  !  Of 
course,  if ' 

'  A  witness,'  he  murmured,  not  looking  at  me, 
'  some  one  who  understands,  yet  does  not  think  me 
mad.' 

There  was  such  appeal  in  his  voice  that  I  felt  ready 
and  eager  to  do  anything  to  help  him.  Our  eyes 
met,  and  my  own  tried  to  express  this  willingness  in 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  265 

me ;  but  what  I  said  I  hardly  know,  for  a  cloud 
of  confusion  was  on  my  mind,  and  my  speech  went 
fumbling  like  a  schoolboy's.  I  was  more  than  dis- 
concerted. Through  this  bewilderment,  then,  I  just 
caught  the  tail-end  of  another  sentence  in  which  the 
words  '  relief  it  is  to  have  .  .  .  some  one  to  hold 
to  .  .  .  when  the  disappearance  comes  .  .  .'  sounded 
like  voices  heard  in  dream.  But  I  missed  the 
complete  phrase  and  shrank  from  asking  him  to 
repeat  it. 

Some  sympathetic  answer  struggled  to  my  lips, 
though  what  it  was  I  know  not.  The  thing  I 
murmured,  however,  seemed  apparently  well  chosen. 
He  leaned  across  and  laid  his  big  hand  a  moment  on 
my  own  with  eloquent  pressure.  It  was  cold  as  ice. 
A  look  of  gratitude  passed  over  his  sunburned 
features.  He  sighed.  And  we  left  the  table  then 
and  passed  into  the  inner  smoking-room  for  coffee — 
a  room  whose  windows  gave  upon  columned  terraces 
that  allowed  no  view  of  the  encircling  desert.  He 
led  the  conversation  into  channels  less  personal  and, 
thank  heaven,  less  intensely  emotional  and  mysterious. 
What  we  talked  about  I  now  forget ;  it  was  interest- 
ing but  in  another  key  altogether.  His  old  charm 
and  power  worked  ;  the  respect  I  had  always  felt  for 
his  character  and  gifts  returned  in  force,  but  it  was 
the  pity  I  now  experienced  that  remained  chiefly  in 
my  mind.  For  this  change  in  him  became  more 
and  more  noticeable.  He  was  less  impressive,  less 
convincing,  less  suggestive.  His  talk,  though  so 
knowledgeable,  lacked  that  spiritual  quality  that  drives 
home.  He  was  uncannily  less  real.  And  I  went  up 
to  bed,  uneasy  and  disturbed.  '  It  is  not  age,'  I  said 
to  myself,  'and  assuredly  it  is  not  death  he  fears, 
although  he  spoke  of  disappearance.     It  is  mental — 


266  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

in  the  deepest  sense.  It  is  what  religious  people 
would  call  soul.  Something  is  happening  to  his 
soul.' 


IV 

And  this  word  '  soul '  remained  with  me  to  the 
end.  Egypt  was  taking  his  soul  away  into  the  Past. 
What  was  of  value  in  him  went  willingly  ;  the  rest, 
some  lesser  aspect  of  his  mind  and  character,  resisted, 
holding  to  the  present.  A  struggle,  therefore,  was 
involved.  But  this  was  being  gradually  obliterated 
too. 

How  I  arrived  gaily  at  this  monstrous  conclusion 
seems  to  me  now  a  mystery  ;  but  the  truth  is  that 
from  a  conversation  one  brings  away  a  general  idea 
that  is  larger  than  the  words  actually  heard  and 
spoken.  I  have  reported,  naturally,  but  a  fragment 
of  what  passed  between  us  in  language,  and  of  what 
was  suggested  —  by  gesture,  expression,  silence — 
merely  perhaps  a  hint.  I  can  only  assert  that  this 
troubling  verdict  remained  a  conviction  in  my  mind. 
It  came  upstairs  with  me  ;  it  watched  and  listened 
by  my  side.  That  mysterious  Third  evoked  in  our 
conversation  was  bigger  than  either  of  us  separately  ; 
it  might  be  called  the  spirit  of  ancient  Egypt,  or  it 
might  be  called  with  equal  generalisation,  the  Past. 
This  Third,  at  any  rate,  stood  by  me,  whispering 
this  astounding  thing.  I  went  out  on  to  my  little 
balcony  to  smoke  a  pipe  and  enjoy  the  comforting 
presence  of  the  stars  before  turning  in.  It  came  out 
with  me.  It  was  everywhere.  I  heard  the  barking 
of  dogs,  the  monotonous  beating  of  a  distant  drum 
towards  Bedraschien,  the  sing-song  voices  of  the 
natives  in  their  booths  and  down  the  dim-lit  streets. 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  267 

1  was  aware  of  this  invisible  Third  behind  all  these 
familiar  sounds.  The  enormous  night-sky,  drowned 
in  stars,  conveyed  it  too.  It  was  in  the  breath  of 
chilly  wind  that  whispered  round  the  walls,  and  it 
brooded  everywhere  above  the  sleepless  desert.  I 
was  alone  as  little  as  though  George  Isley  stood 
beside  me  in  person — and  at  that  moment  a  moving 
figure  caught  my  eye  below.  My  window  was  on 
the  sixth  story,  but  there  was  no  mistaking  the  tall 
and  soldierly  bearing  of  the  man  who  was  strolling 
past  the  hotel.  George  Isley  was  going  slowly  out 
into  the  desert. 

There  was  actually  nothing  unusual  in  the  sight. 
It  was  only  ten  o'clock  ;  but  for  doctor's  orders  I 
might  have  been  doing  the  same  myself.  Yet,  as  I 
leaned  over  the  dizzy  ledge  and  watched  him,  a 
chill  struck  through  me,  and  a  feeling  nothing  could 
justify,  nor  pages  of  writing  describe,  rose  up  and 
mastered  me.  His  words  at  dinner  came  back  with 
curious  force.  Egypt  lay  round  him,  motionless,  a 
vast  grey  web.  His  feet  were  caught  in  it.  It 
quivered.  The  silvery  meshes  in  the  moonlight 
announced  the  fact  from  Memphis  up  to  Thebes, 
across  the  Nile,  from  underground  Sakkhara  to  the 
Valley  of  the  Kings.  A  tremor  ran  over  the  entire 
desert,  and  again,  as  in  the  dining-room,  the  leagues 
of  sand  went  rustling.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I 
caught  him  in  the  act  of  disappearing. 

I  realised  in  that  moment  the  haunting  power  of 
this  mysterious  still  atmosphere  which  is  Egypt,  and 
some  magical  emanation  of  its  mighty  past  broke 
over  me  suddenly  like  a  wave.  Perhaps  in  that 
moment  I  felt  what  he  himself  felt  ;  the  withdrawing 
suction  of  the  huge  spent  wave  swept  something  out  of 
me  into  the  past  with  it.     An  indescribable  yearning 


268  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

drew  something  living  from  my  heart,  something 
that  longed  with  a  kind  of  burning,  searching  sweet- 
ness for  a  glory  of  spiritual  passion  that  was  gone. 
The  pain  and  happiness  of  it  were  more  poignant 
than  may  be  told,  and  my  present  personality — some 
vital  portion  of  it,  at  any  rate — wilted  before  the 
power  of  its  enticement. 

I  stood  there,  motionless  as  stone,  and  stared. 
Erect  and  steady,  knowing  resistance  vain,  eager  to 
go  yet  striving  to  remain,  and  half  with  an  air  of 
floating  off  the  ground,  he  went  towards  the  pale 
grey  thread  which  was  the  track  to  Suez  and  the  far 
Red  Sea.  There  came  upon  me  this  strange,  deep 
sense  of  pity,  pathos,  sympathy  that  was  beyond  all 
explanation,  and  mysterious  as  a  pain  in  dreams. 
For  a  sense  of  his  awful  loneliness  stole  into  me,  a 
loneliness  nothing  on  this  earth  could  possibly  relieve. 
Robbed  of  the  Present,  he  sought  this  chimera  of 
his  soul,  an  unreal  Past.  Not  even  the  calm  majesty 
of  this  exquisite  Egyptian  night  could  soothe  the 
dream  away  ;  the  peace  and  silence  were  marvellous, 
the  sweet  perfume  of  the  desert  air  intoxicating  ;  but 
all  these  intensified  it  only. 

And  though  at  a  loss  to  explain  my  own  emotion, 
its  poignancy  was  so  real  that  a  sigh  escaped  me 
and  I  felt  that  tears  lay  not  too  far  away.  I  watched 
him,  yet  felt  I  had  no  right  to  watch.  Softly 
I  drew  back  from  the  window  with  the  sensa- 
tion of  eavesdropping  upon  his  privacy  ;  but  before 
I  did  so  I  had  seen  his  outline  melt  away  into  the 
dim  world  of  sand  that  began  at  the  very  walls  of 
the  hotel.  He  wore  a  cloak  of  green  that  reached 
down  almost  to  his  heels,  and  its  colour  blended  with 
the  silvery  surface  of  the  desert's  dark  sea -tint. 
This  sheen  first  draped  and  then  concealed  him.     It 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  269 

covered  him  with  a  fold  of  its  mysterious  garment 
that,  without  seam  or  binding,  veiled  Egypt  for  a 
thousand  leagues.  The  desert  took  him.  Egypt 
caught  him  in  her  web.     He  was  gone. 

Sleep  for  me  just  then  seemed  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. The  change  in  him  made  me  feel  less  sure  of 
myself.  To  see  him  thus  invertebrate  shocked  me. 
I  was  aware  that  I  had  nerves. 

For  a  long  time  I  sat  smoking  by  the  window, 
my  body  weary,  but  my  imagination  irritatingly 
stimulated.  The  big  sign-lights  of  the  hotel  went 
out ;  window  after  window  closed  below  me  ;  the 
electric  standards  in  the  streets  were  already  ex- 
tinguished ;  and  Helouan  looked  like  a  child's  white 
blocks  scattered  in  ruin  upon  the  nursery  carpet.  It 
seemed  so  wee  upon  the  vast  expanse.  It  lay  in 
a  twinkling  pattern,  like  a  cluster  of  glow-worms 
dropped  into  a  negligible  crease  of  the  tremendous 
desert.     It  peeped  up  at  the  stars,  a  little  frightened. 

The  night  was  very  still.  There  hung  an 
enormous  brooding  beauty  everywhere,  a  hint 
of  the  sinister  in  it  that  only  the  brilliance  of 
the  blazing  stars  relieved.  Nothing  really  slept. 
Grouped  here  and  there  at  intervals  about  this  dun- 
coloured  world  stood  the  everlasting  watchers  in 
solemn,  tireless  guardianship — the  soaring  Pyramids, 
the  Sphinx,  the  grim  Colossi,  the  empty  temples,  the 
long-deserted  tombs.  The  mind  was  aware  of  them, 
stationed  like  sentries  through  the  night.  '  This  is 
Egypt  ;  you  are  actually  in  Egypt,'  whispered  the 
silence.  'Eight  thousand  years  of  history  lie  flutter- 
ing outside  your  window.  She  lies  there  under- 
ground, sleepless,  mighty,  deathless,  not  to  be  trifled 
with.     Beware  !     Or  she  will  change  you  too  !  ' 


270         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

My  imagination  offered  this  hint  :  Egypt  is 
difficult  to  realise.  It  remains  outside  the  mind,  a 
fabulous,  half-legendary  idea.  So  many  enormous 
elements  together  refuse  to  be  assimilated  ;  the  heart 
pauses,  asking  for  time  and  breath  ;  the  senses  reel 
a  little ;  and  in  the  end  a  mental  torpor  akin  to 
stupefaction  creeps  upon  the  brain.  With  a  sigh 
the  struggle  is  abandoned  and  the  mind  surrenders 
to  Egypt  on  her  own  terms.  Alone  the  diggers 
and  archaeologists,  confined  to  definite  facts,  offer 
successful  resistance.  My  friend's  use  of  the  words 
'  resistance  '  and  '  protection  '  became  clearer  to  me. 
While  logic  halted,  intuition  fluttered  round  this 
clue  to  the  solution  of  the  influences  at  work. 
George  Isley  realised  Egypt  more  than  most — but 
as  she  had  been. 

And  I  recalled  its  first  effect  upon  myself,  and 
how  my  mind  had  been  unable  to  cope  with  the 
memory  of  it  afterwards.  There  had  come  to  its 
summons  a  colossal  medley,  a  gigantic,  coloured  blur 
that  merely  bewildered.  Only  lesser  points  lodged 
comfortably  in  the  heart.  I  saw  a  chaotic  vision  : 
sands  drenched  in  dazzling  light,  vast  granite  aisles, 
stupendous  figures  that  stared  unblinking  at  the  sun, 
a  shining  river  and  a  shadowy  desert,  both  endless  as 
the  sky,  mountainous  pyramids  and  gigantic  mono- 
liths, armies  of  heads,  of  paws,  of  faces — all  set  to 
a  scale  of  size  that  was  prodigious.  The  items 
stunned  ;  the  composite  effect  was  too  unwieldy  to 
be  grasped.  Something  that  blazed  with  splendour 
rolled  before  the  eyes,  too  close  to  be  seen  distinctly 
— at  the  same  time  very  distant — unrealised. 

Then,  with  the  passing  of  the  weeks,  it  slowly 
stirred  to  life.  It  had  attacked  unseen  ;  its  grip  was 
quite  tremendous  ;  yet  it  could  be  neither  told,  nor 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  271 

painted,  nor  described.  It  flamed  up  unexpectedly — 
in  the  foggy  London  streets,  at  the  Club,  in  the 
theatre.  A  sound  recalled  the  street-cries  of  the 
Arabs,  a  breath  of  scented  air  brought  back  the 
heated  sand  beyond  the  palm  groves.  Up  rose  the 
huge  Egyptian  glamour,  transforming  common  things ; 
it  had  lain  buried  all  this  time  in  deep  recesses  of 
the  heart  that  are  inaccessible  to  ordinary  daily  life. 
And  there  hid  in  it  something  of  uneasiness  that  was 
inexplicable  ;  awe,  a  hint  of  cold  eternity,  a  touch  of 
something  unchanging  and  terrific,  something  sublime 
made  lovely  yet  unearthly  with  shadowy  time  and 
distance.  The  melancholy  of  the  Nile  and  the 
grandeur  of  a  hundred  battered  temples  dropped 
some  unutterable  beauty  upon  the  heart.  Up  swept 
the  desert  air,  the  luminous  pale  shadows,  the  naked 
desolation  that  yet  brims  with  sharp  vitality.  An 
Arab  on  his  donkey  tripped  in  colour  across  the 
mind,  melting  off  into  tiny  perspective,  strangely 
vivid.  A  string  of  camels  stood  in  silhouette  against 
the  crimson  sky.  Great  winds,  great  blazing  spaces, 
great  solemn  nights,  great  days  of  golden  splendour 
rose  from  the  pavement  or  the  theatre-stall,  and 
London,  dim-lit  England,  the  whole  of  modern  life, 
indeed,  seemed  suddenly  reduced  to  a  paltry  insig- 
nificance that  produced  an  aching  longing  for  the 
pageantry  of  those  millions  of  vanished  souls.  Egypt 
rolled  through  the  heart  for  a  moment — and  was 
gone. 

I  remembered  that  some  such  fantastic  experience 
had  been  mine.  Put  it  as  one  may,  the  fact  remains 
that  for  certain  temperaments  Egypt  can  rob  the 
Present  of  some  thread  of  interest  that  was  formerly 
there.  The  memory  became  for  me  an  integral  part 
of  personality ;     something  in    me    yearned    for    its 


272  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

curious  and  awful  beauty.  He  who  has  drunk  of 
the  Nile  shall  return  to  drink  of  it  again.  .  .  .  And 
if  for  myself  this  was  possible,  what  might  not 
happen  to  a  character  of  George  Isley's  type  ?  Some 
glimmer  of  comprehension  came  to  me.  The  ancient, 
buried,  hidden  Egypt  had  cast  her  net  about  his  soul. 
Grown  shadowy  in  the  Present,  his  life  was  being 
transferred  into  some  golden,  reconstructed  Past, 
where  it  was  real.  Some  countries  give,  while 
others  take  away.  And  George  Isley  was  worth 
robbing.   .  .  . 

Disturbed  by  these  singular  reflections,  I  moved 
away  from  the  open  window,  closing  it.  But  the 
closing  did  not  exclude  the  presence  of  the  Third. 
The  biting  night  air  followed  me  in.  I  drew  the 
mosquito  curtains  round  the  bed,  but  the  light  I  left 
still  burning  ;  and,  lying  there,  I  jotted  down  upon 
a  scrap  of  paper  this  curious  impression  as  best  I 
could,  only  to  find  that  it  escaped  easily  between  the 
words.  Such  visionary  and  spiritual  perceptions  are 
too  elusive  to  be  trapped  in  language.  Reading  it 
over  after  an  interval  of  years,  it  is  difficult  to  recall 
with  what  intense  meaning,  what  uncanny  emotion, 
I  wrote  those  faded  lines  in  pencil.  Their  rhetoric 
seems  cheap,  their  content  much  exaggerated ;  yet 
at  the  time  truth  burned  in  every  syllable.  Egypt, 
which  since  time  began  has  suffered  robbery  with 
violence  at  the  hands  of  all  the  world,  now  takes  her 
vengeance,  choosing  her  individual  prey.  Her  time 
has  come.  Behind  a  modern  mask  she  lies  in  wait, 
intensely  active,  sure  of  her  hidden  power.  Prostitute 
of  dead  empires,  she  lies  now  at  peace  beneath  the 
same  old  stars,  her  loveliness  unimpaired,  bejewelled 
with  the  beaten  gold  of  ages,  her  breasts  uncovered, 
and    her    grand    limbs    flashing    in    the   sun.      Her 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  273 

shoulders  of  alabaster  are  lifted  above  the  sand-drifts ; 
she  surveys  the  little  figures  of  to-day.  She  takes  her 
choice.   .   .   . 

That  night  I  did  not  dream,  but  neither  did  the 
whole  of  me  lie  down  in  sleep.  During  the  long 
dark  hours  I  was  aware  of  that  picture  endlessly 
repeating  itself,  the  picture  of  George  Isley  stealing 
out  into  the  moonlight  desert.  The  night  so  swiftly 
dropped  her  hood  about  him  ;  so  mysteriously  he 
merged  into  the  unchanging  thing  which  cloaks  the 
past.  It  lifted.  Some  huge  shadowy  hand,  gloved 
softly  yet  of  granite,  stretched  over  the  leagues  to 
take  him.     He  disappeared. 

They  say  the  desert  is  motionless  and  has  no 
gestures  !  That  night  I  saw  it  moving,  hurrying. 
It  went  tearing  after  him.  You  understand  my 
meaning  ?  No  !  Well,  when  excited  it  produces 
this  strange  impression,  and  the  terrible  moment 
is — when  you  surrender  helplessly — you  desire  it 
shall  swallow  you.  You  let  it  come.  George 
Isley  spoke  of  a  web.  It  is,  at  any  rate,  some 
central  power  that  conceals  itself  behind  the  surface 
glamour  folk  call  the  spell  of  Egypt.  Its  home 
is  not  apparent.  It  dwells  with  ancient  Egypt — 
underground.  Behind  the  stillness  of  hot  windless 
days,  behind  the  peace  of  calm,  gigantic  nights,  it 
lurks  unrealised,  monstrous  and  irresistible.  My 
mind  grasped  it  as  little  as  the  fact  that  our  solar  system 
with  all  its  retinue  of  satellites  and  planets  rushes 
annually  many  million  miles  towards  a  star  in  Hercules, 
while  yet  that  constellation  appears  no  closer  than  it 
did  six  thousand  years  ago.  But  the  clue  dropped 
into  me.  George  Isley,  with  his  entire  retinue  of 
thought  and  life  and  feeling,  was  being  similarly 
drawn.     And  I,  a  minor  satellite,  had  become  aware 

T 


274  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

of  the  horrifying  pull.    It  was  magnificent.   .   .   .And 
I  fell  asleep  on  the  crest  of  this  enormous  wave. 


V 

The  next  few  days  passed  idly  ;  weeks  passed  too, 
I  think  ;  hidden  away  in  this  cosmopolitan  hotel  we 
lived  apart,  unnoticed.  There  was  the  feeling  that 
time  went  what  pace  it  pleased,  now  fast,  now  slow, 
now  standing  still.  The  similarity  of  the  brilliant 
days,  set  between  wondrous  dawns  and  sunsets,  left 
the  impression  that  it  was  really  one  long,  endless 
day  without  divisions.  The  mind's  machinery  of 
measurement  suffered  dislocation.  Time  went  back- 
wards ;  dates  were  forgotten  ;  the  month,  the  time 
of  year,  the  century  itself  went  down  into  undiffer- 
entiated life. 

The  Present  certainly  slipped  away  curiously. 
Newspapers  and  politics  became  unimportant,  news 
uninteresting,  English  life  so  remote  as  to  be  unreal, 
European  affairs  shadowy.  The  stream  of  life  ran 
in  another  direction  altogether — backwards.  The 
names  and  faces  of  friends  appeared  through  mist. 
People  arrived  as  though  dropped  from  the  skies. 
They  suddenly  were  there  ;  one  saw  them  in  the 
dining-room,  as  though  they  had  just  slipped  in  from 
an  outer  world  that  once  was  real — somewhere.  Of 
course,  a  steamer  sailed  four  times  a  week,  and  the 
journey  took  five  days,  but  these  things  were  merely 
known,  not  realised.  The  fact  that  here  it  was 
summer,  whereas  over  there  winter  reigned,  helped 
to  make  the  distance  not  quite  thinkable.  We  looked 
at  the  desert  and  made  plans.  '  We  will  do  this,  we 
will  do  that ;  we  must  go  there,  we'll  visit  such  and 
such  a  place  .   .   .'  yet  nothing  happened.     It  always 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  275 

was  to-morrow  or  yesterday,  and  we  shared  the 
discovery  of  Alice  that  there  was  no  real  '  to-day.' 
For  our  thinking  made  everything  happen.  That 
was  enough.  It  had  happened.  It  was  the  reality 
of  dreams.  Egypt  was  a  dream-world  that  made  the 
heart  live  backwards. 

It  came  about,  thus,  that  for  the  next  few  weeks 
I  watched  a  fading  life,  myself  alert  and  sympathetic, 
yet  unable  somehow  to  intrude  and  help.  Noticing 
various  little  things  by  which  George  Isley  betrayed  the 
progress  of  the  unequal  struggle,  I  found  my  assist- 
ance negatived  by  the  fact  that  I  was  in  similar  case 
myself.  What  he  experienced  in  large  and  finally,  I, 
too,  experienced  in  little  and  for  the  moment.  For 
I  seemed  also  caught  upon  the  fringe  of  the  invisible 
web.  My  feelings  were  entangled  sufficiently  for 
me  to  understand.  .  .  .  And  the  decline  of  his  being 
was  terrible  to  watch.  His  character  went  with  it  ; 
I  saw  his  talents  fade,  his  personality  dwindle,  his 
very  soul  dissolve  before  the  insidious  and  invading 
influence.  He  hardly  struggled.  I  thought  of  those 
abominable  insects  that  paralyse  the  motor  systems 
of  their  victims  and  then  devour  them  at  their 
leisure — alive.  The  incredible  adventure  was  literally 
true,  but,  being  spiritual,  may  not  be  told  in  the 
terms  of  a  detective  story.  This  version  must  remain 
an  individual  rendering — an  aspect  of  one  possible 
version.  All  who  know  the  real  Egypt,  that  Egypt 
which  has  nothing  to  do  with  dams  and  Nationalists 
and  the  external  welfare  of  the  falaheen,  will  under- 
stand. The  pilfering  of  her  ancient  dead  she  suffers 
still  ;  she,  in  revenge,  preys  at  her  leisure  on  the 
living. 

The  occasions  when  he  betrayed  himself  were 
ordinary  enough  ;  it  was  the  glimpse  they  afforded 


276  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

of  what  was  in  progress  beneath  his  calm  exterior 
that  made  them  interesting.  Once,  I  remember,  we 
had  lunched  together  at  Mena,  and,  after  visiting 
certain  excavations  beyond  the  Gizeh  pyramids,  we 
made  our  way  homewards  by  way  of  the  Sphinx. 
It  was  dusk,  and  the  main  army  of  tourists  had 
retired,  though  some  few  dozen  sight-seers  still 
moved  about  to  the  cries  of  donkey -boys  and 
baksheesh.  The  vast  head  and  shoulders  suddenly 
emerged,  riding  undrowned  above  the  sea  of  sand. 
Dark  and  monstrous  in  the  fading  light,  it  loomed, 
as  ever,  a  being  of  non-human  lineage  ;  no  amount 
of  familiarity  could  depreciate  its  grandeur,  its  im- 
pressive setting,  the  lost  expression  of  the  countenance 
that  is  too  huge  to  focus  as  a  face.  A  thousand  visits 
leave  its  power  undiminished.  It  has  intruded  upon 
our  earth  from  some  uncommon  world.  George  Isley 
and  myself  both  turned  aside  to  acknowledge  the 
presence  of  this  alien,  uncomfortable  thing.  We 
did  not  linger,  but  we  slackened  pace.  It  was  the 
obvious,  inevitable  thing  to  do.  He  pointed  then, 
with  a  suddenness  that  made  me  start.  He  indicated 
the  tourists  standing  round. 

'  See,'  he  said,  in  a  lowered  tone,  '  day  and  night 
you'll  always  find  a  crowd  obedient  to  that  thing. 
But  notice  their  behaviour.  People  don't  do  that 
before  any  other  ruin  in  the  world  I've  ever  seen.' 
He  referred  to  the  attempts  of  individuals  to  creep 
away  alone  and  stare  into  the  stupendous  visage  by 
themselves.  At  different  points  in  the  deep  sandy 
basin  were  men  and  women,  standing  solitary,  lying, 
crouching,  apart  from  the  main  company  where  the 
dragomen  mouthed  their  exposition  with  impertinent 
glibness. 

'  The   desire   to   be   alone,'  he   went   on,  half  to 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  277 

himself,  as  we  paused  a  moment,  *  the  sense  of 
worship  which  insists  on  privacy.' 

It  was  significant,  for  no  amount  of  advertising 
could  dwarf  the  impressiveness  of  the  inscrutable 
visage  into  whose  eyes  of  stone  the  silent  humans 
gazed.  Not  even  the  red-coat,  standing  inside  one 
gigantic  ear,  could  introduce  the  commonplace.  But 
my  companion's  words  let  another  thing  into  the 
spectacle,  a  less  exalted  thing,  dropping  a  hint  of 
horror  about  that  sandy  cup  :  It  became  easy,  for 
a  moment,  to  imagine  these  tourists  worshipping — 
against  their  will  ;  to  picture  the  monster  noticing 
that  they  were  there  ;  that  it  might  slowly  turn  its 
awful  head  ;  that  the  sand  might  visibly  trickle  from 
a  stirring  paw  ;  that,  in  a  word,  they  might  be  taken 
— changed. 

'  Come,'  he  whispered  in  a  dropping  tone,  inter- 
rupting my  fancies  as  though  he  half  divined  them, 
'  it  is  getting  late,  and  to  be  alone  with  the  thing  is 
intolerable  to  me  just  now.  But  you  notice,  don't 
you,'  he  added,  as  he  took  my  arm  to  hurry  me  away, 
'  how  little  the  tourists  matter  ?  Instead  of  injuring 
the  effect,  they  increase  it.     It  uses  them' 

And  again  a  slight  sensation  of  chill,  communi- 
cated possibly  by  his  nervous  touch,  or  possibly  by 
his  earnest  way  of  saying  these  curious  words,  passed 
through  me.  Some  part  of  me  remained  behind  in 
that  hollow  trough  of  sand,  prostrate  before  an 
immensity  that  symbolised  the  past.  A  curious, 
wild  yearning  caught  me  momentarily,  an  intense 
desire  to  understand  exactly  why  that  terror  stood 
there,  its  actual  meaning  long  ago  to  the  hearts  that 
set  it  waiting  for  the  sun,  what  definite  role  it  played, 
what  souls  it  stirred  and  why,  in  that  system  of  tower- 
ing belief  and  faith  whose  indestructible  emblem  it 


278  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

still  remained.  The  past  stood  grouped  so  solemnly 
about  its  menacing  presentment.  I  was  distinctly 
aware  of  this  spiritual  suction  backwards  that  my 
companion  yielded  to  so  gladly,  yet  against  his 
normal,  modern  self.  For  it  made  the  past  appear 
magnificently  desirable,  and  loosened  all  the  rivets 
of  the  present.  It  bodied  forth  three  main  in- 
gredients of  this  deep  Egyptian  spell — size,  mystery, 
and  immobility. 

Yet,  to  my  relief,  the  cheaper  aspect  of  this 
Egyptian  glamour  left  him  cold.  He  remained 
unmoved  by  the  commonplace  mysterious  ;  he  told 
no  mummy  stories,  nor  ever  hinted  at  the  super- 
natural quality  that  leaps  to  the  mind  of  the 
majority.  There  was  no  play  in  him.  The  in- 
fluence was  grave  and  vital.  And,  although  I  knew 
he  held  strong  views  with  regard  to  the  impiety 
of  disturbing  the  dead,  he  never  in  my  hearing 
attached  any  possible  revengeful  character  to  the 
energy  of  an  outraged  past.  The  current  tales  of 
this  description  he  ignored  ;  they  were  for  super- 
stitious minds  or  children  ;  the  deities  that  claimed 
his  soul  were  of  a  grander  order  altogether.  He 
lived,  if  it  may  be  so  expressed,  already  in  a  world 
his  heart  had  reconstructed  or  remembered  ;  it  drew 
him  in  another  direction  altogether  ;  with  the  modern, 
sensational  view  of  life  his  spirit  held  no  traffic  any 
longer  ;  he  was  living  backwards.  I  saw  his  figure 
receding  mournfully,  yet  never  sentimentally,  into 
the  spacious,  golden  atmosphere  of  recaptured  days. 
The  enormous  soul  of  buried  Egypt  drew  him  down. 
The  dwindling  of  his  physical  appearance  was,  of 
course,  a  mental  interpretation  of  my  own  ;  but 
another,  stranger  interpretation  of  a  spiritual  kind 
moved   parallel    with    it — marvellous    and    horrible. 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  279 

For,  as  he  diminished  outwardly  and  in  his  modern, 
present  aspect,  he  grew  within — gigantic.  The  size 
of  Egypt  entered  into  him.  Huge  proportions  now 
began  to  accompany  any  presentment  of  his  personality 
to  my  inner  vision.  He  towered.  These  two  qualities 
of  the  land  already  obsessed  him  —  magnitude  and 
immobility. 

And  that  awe  which  modern  life  ignores  con- 
temptuously woke  in  my  heart.  I  almost  feared  his 
presence  at  certain  times.  For  one  aspect  of  the 
Egyptian  spell  is  explained  by  sheer  size  and  bulk. 
Disdainful  of  mere  speed  to-day,  the  heart  is  still 
uncomfortable  with  magnitude  ;  and  in  Egypt  there 
is  size  that  may  easily  appal,  for  every  detail  shunts 
it  laboriously  upon  the  mind.  It  elbows  out  the 
present.  The  desert's  vastness  is  not  made  com- 
prehensible by  mileage,  and  the  sources  of  the  Nile 
are  so  distant  that  they  exist  less  on  the  map  than 
in  the  imagination.  The  effort  to  realise  suffers 
paralysis  ;  they  might  equally  be  in  the  moon  or 
Saturn.  The  undecorated  magnificence  of  the  desert 
remains  unknown,  just  as  the  proportions  of  pyramid 
and  temple,  of  pylons  and  Colossi  approach  the  edge 
of  the  mind  yet  never  enter  in.  All  stand  outside, 
clothed  in  this  prodigious  measurement  of  the  past. 
And  the  old  beliefs  not  only  share  this  titanic  effect 
upon  the  consciousness,  but  carry  it  stages  further. 
The  entire  scale  haunts  with  uncomfortable  im- 
mensity, so  that  the  majority  run  back  with  relief 
to  the  measurable  details  of  a  more  manageable  scale. 
Express  trains,  flying  machines,  Atlantic  liners — 
these  produce  no  unpleasant  stretching  of  the  facul- 
ties compared  to  the  influence  of  the  Karnak  pylons, 
the  pyramids,  or  the  interior  of  the  Serapeum. 

Close  behind  this  magnitude,  moreover,  steps  the 


28o         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

monstrous.  It  is  revealed  not  in  sand  and  stone  alone, 
in  queer  effects  of  light  and  shadow,  of  glittering 
sunsets  and  of  magical  dusks,  but  in  the  very  aspect 
of  the  bird  and  animal  life.  The  heavy-headed 
buffaloes  betray  it  equally  with  the  vultures,  the 
myriad  kites,  the  grotesqueness  of  the  mouthing 
camels.  The  rude,  enormous  scenery  has  it  every- 
where. There  is  nothing  lyrical  in  this  land  of 
passionate  mirages.  Uncouth  immensity  notes  the 
little  human  flittings.  The  days  roll  by  in  a  tide 
of  golden  splendour  ;  one  goes  helplessly  with  the 
flood  ;  but  it  is  an  irresistible  flood  that  sweeps 
backwards  and  below.  The  silent-footed  natives  in 
their  coloured  robes  move  before  a  curtain,  and 
behind  that  curtain  dwells  the  soul  of  ancient  Egypt 
— the  Reality,  as  George  Isley  called  it — watching, 
with  sleepless  eyes  of  grey  infinity.  Then,  sometimes 
the  curtain  stirs  and  lifts  an  edge  ;  an  invisible  hand 
creeps  forth  ;  the  soul  is  touched.  And  some  one 
disappears. 

VI 

The  process  of  disintegration  must  have  been  at 
work  a  long  time  before  I  appeared  upon  the  scene  ; 
the  changes  went  forward  with  such  rapidity. 

It  was  his  third  year  in  Egypt,  two  of  which  had 
been  spent  without  interruption  in  company  with  an 
Egyptologist  named  Moleson,  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Thebes.  I  soon  discovered  that  this  region  was 
for  him  the  centre  of  attraction,  or  as  he  put  it,  of 
the  web.  Not  Luxor,  of  course,  nor  the  images  of 
reconstructed  Karnak  ;  but  that  stretch  of  grim, 
forbidding  mountains  where  royalty,  earthly  and 
spiritual,  sought  eternal  peace  for  the  physical 
remains.     There,  amid  surroundings  of  superb  deso- 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  281 

lation,  great  priests  and  mighty  kings  had  thought 
themselves  secure  from  sacrilegious  touch.  In 
caverns  underground  they  kept  their  faithful  tryst 
with  centuries,  guarded  by  the  silence  of  magnificent 
gloom.  There  they  waited,  communing  with  passing 
ages  in  their  sleep,  till  Ra,  their  glad  divinity,  should 
summon  them  to  the  fulfilment  of  their  ancient  dream. 
And  there,  in  the  Valley  of  the  Tombs  of  the  Kings, 
their  dream  was  shattered,  their  lovely  prophecies 
derided,  and  their  glory  dimmed  by  the  impious 
desecration  of  the  curious. 

That  George  Isley  and  his  companion  had  spent 
their  time,  not  merely  digging  and  deciphering 
like  their  practical  confreres,  but  engaged  in  some 
strange  experiments  of  recovery  and  reconstruction, 
was  matter  for  open  comment  among  the  fraternity. 
That  incredible  things  had  happened  there  was  the 
big  story  of  two  Egyptian  seasons  at  least.  I  heard 
this  later  only — tales  of  utterly  incredible  kind,  that 
the  desolate  vale  of  rock  was  seen  repeopled  on  moon- 
lit nights,  that  the  smoke  of  unaccustomed  fires  rose 
to  cap  the  flat-topped  peaks,  that  the  pageantry  of 
some  forgotten  worship  had  been  seen  to  issue  from 
the  openings  of  these  hills,  and  that  sounds  of  chant- 
ing, sonorous  and  marvellously  sweet,  had  been  heard 
to  echo  from  those  bleak,  repellent  precipices.  The 
tales  apparently  were  grossly  exaggerated  ;  wandering 
Bedouins  brought  them  in  ;  the  guides  and  dragomen 
repeated  them  with  mysterious  additions  ;  till  they 
filtered  down  through  the  native  servants  in  the 
hotels  and  reached  the  tourists  with  highly  picturesque 
embroidery.  They  reached  the  authorities  too.  The 
only  accurate  fact  I  gathered  at  the  time,  however, 
was  that  they  had  abruptly  ceased.  George  Isley  and 
Moleson,    moreover,    had     parted     company.      And 


282         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

Moleson,  I  heard,  was  the  originator  of  the  business. 
He  was,  at  this  time,  unknown  to  me  ;  his  arresting 
book  on  '  A  Modern  Reconstruction  of  Sun-worship 
in  Ancient  Egypt'  being  my  only  link  with  his  unusual 
mind.  Apparently  he  regarded  the  sun  as  the  deity 
of  the  scientific  religion  of  the  future  which  would 
replace  the  various  anthropomorphic  gods  of  childish 
creeds.  He  discussed  the  possibility  of  the  zodiacal 
signs  being  some  kind  of  Celestial  Intelligences. 
Belief  blazed  on  every  page.  Men's  life  is  heat, 
derived  solely  from  the  sun,  and  men  were,  therefore, 
part  of  the  sun  in  the  sense  that  a  Christian  is  part 
of  his  personal  deity.  And  absorption  was  the  end. 
His  description  of  '  sun-worship  ceremonials  '  con- 
veyed an  amazing  reality  and  beauty.  This  singular 
book,  however,  was  all  I  knew  of  him  until  he  came 
to  visit  us  in  Helouan,  though  I  easily  discerned  that 
his  influence  somehow  was  the  original  cause  of  the 
change  in  my  companion. 

At  Thebes,  then,  was  the  active  centre  of  the 
influence  that  drew  my  friend  away  from  modern 
things.  It  was  there,  I  easily  guessed,  that  'obstacles' 
had  been  placed  in  the  way  of  these  men's  too  close 
enquiry.  In  that  haunted  and  oppressive  valley, 
where  profane  and  reverent  come  to  actual  grips, 
where  modern  curiosity  is  most  busily  organised, 
and  even  tourists  are  aware  of  a  masked  hos- 
tility that  dogs  the  prying  of  the  least  imagina- 
tive mind — there,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
hundred-gated  city,  had  Egypt  set  the  headquarters 
of  her  irreconcilable  enmity.  And  it  was  there, 
amid  the  ruins  of  her  loveliest  past,  that  George  Isley 
had  spent  his  years  of  magical  reconstruction  and 
met  the  influence  that  now  dominated  his  entire  life. 

And   though  no  definite    avowal  of  the  struggle 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  283 

betrayed  itself  in  speech  between  us,  I  remember 
fragments  of  conversation,  even  at  this  stage,  that 
proved  his  willing  surrender  of  the  present.  We 
spoke  of  fear  once,  though  with  the  indirectness  of 
connection  I  have  mentioned.  1  urged  that  the  mind, 
once  it  is  forewarned,  can  remain  master  of  itself  and 
prevent  a  thing  from  happening. 

'  But  that  does  not  make  the  thing  unreal,'  he 
objected. 

'  The  mind  can  deny  it,'  1  said.  4  It  then  becomes 
unreal.' 

He  shook  his  head.  '  One  does  not  deny  an 
unreality.  Denial  is  a  childish  act  of  self-protection 
against  something  you  expect  to  happen.'  He 
caught  my  eye  a  moment.  '  You  deny  what  you 
are  afraid  of,'  he  said.  '  Fear  invites.'  And  he 
smiled  uneasily.  '  You  know  it  must  get  you  in  the 
end.'  And,  both  of  us  being  aware  secretly  to  what 
our  talk  referred,  it  seemed  bold-blooded  and  im- 
proper ;  for  actually  we  discussed  the  psychology  of 
his  disappearance.  Yet,  while  I  disliked  it,  there  was 
a  fascination  about  the  subject  that  compelled  attrac- 
tion. .  .  .  '  Once  fear  gets  in,'  he  added  presently, 
1  confidence  is  undermined,  the  structure  of  life  is 
threatened,  and  you — go  gladly.  The  foundation  of 
everything  is  belief.  A  man  is  what  he  believes 
about  himself;  and  in  Egypt  you  can  believe  things 
that  elsewhere  you  would  not  even  think  about.  It 
attacks  the  essentials.'  He  sighed,  yet  with  a  curious 
pleasure  ;  and  a  smile  of  resignation  and  relief  passed 
over  his  rugged  features  and  was  gone  again.  The 
luxury  of  abandonment  lay  already  in  him. 

*  But  even  belief,'  I  protested,  '  must  be  founded 
on  some  experience  or  other.'  It  seemed  ghastly  to 
speak   of  his   spiritual   malady  behind  the  mask  of 


284         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

indirect  allusion.      My  excuse  was  that  he  so  obviously 
talked  willingly. 

He  agreed  instantly.  '  Experience  of  one  kind  or 
another,'  he  said  darkly,  '  there  always  is.  Talk  with 
the  men  who  live  out  here  ;  ask  any  one  who  thinks, 
or  who  has  the  imagination  which  divines.  You'll  get 
only  one  reply,  phrase  it  how  they  may.  Even  the 
tourists  and  the  little  commonplace  officials  feel  it. 
And  it's  not  the  climate,  it's  not  nerves,  it's  not  any 
definite  tendency  that  they  can  name  or  lay  their 
finger  on.  Nor  is  it  mere  orientalising  of  the  mind. 
It's  something  that  first  takes  you  from  your  common 
life,  and  that  later  takes  common  life  from  you.  You 
willingly  resign  an  unremunerative  Present.  There 
are  no  half-measures  either — once  the  gates  are  open.' 

There  was  so  much  undeniable  truth  in  this  that 
I  found  no  corrective  by  way  of  strong  rejoinder. 
All  my  attempts,  indeed,  were  futile  in  this  way.  He 
meant  to  go  ;  my  words  could  not  stop  him.  He 
wanted  a  witness, — he  dreaded  the  loneliness  of  going 
— but  he  brooked  no  interference.  The  contradic- 
tory position  involved  a  perplexing  state  of  heart  and 
mind  in  both  of  us.  The  atmosphere  of  this  majestic 
land,  to-day  so  trifling,  yesterday  so  immense,  most 
certainly  induced  a  lifting  of  the  spiritual  horizon 
that  revealed  amazing  possibilities. 


VII 

It  was  in  the  windless  days  of  a  perfect  December 
that  Moleson,  the  Egyptologist,  found  us  out  and 
paid  a  flying  visit  to  Helouan.  His  duties  took  him 
up  and  down  the  land,  but  his  time  seemed  largely 
at  his  own  disposal.  He  lingered  on.  His  coming 
introduced  a  new  element   I  was  not  quite  able  to 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  285 

estimate  ;  though,  speaking  generally,  the  effect  of 
his  presence  upon  my  companion  was  to  emphasise 
the  latter's  alteration.  It  underlined  the  change,  and 
drew  attention  to  it.  The  new  arrival,  I  gathered, 
was  not  altogether  welcome.  '  I  should  never  have 
expected  to  find  you  here,  laughed  Moleson  when 
they  met,  and  whether  he  referred  to  Helouan  or  to 
the  hotel  was  not  quite  clear.  I  got  the  impression 
he  meant  both ;  I  remembered  my  fancy  that  it  was  a 
good  hotel  to  hide  in.  George  Isley  had  betrayed  a 
slight  involuntary  start  when  the  visiting  card  was 
brought  to  him  at  tea-time.  I  think  he  had  wished 
to  escape  from  his  former  co-worker.  Moleson  had 
found  him  out.  '  I  heard  you  had  a  friend  with  you 
and  were  contemplating  further  exper — work,'  he 
added.  He  changed  the  word  '  experiment '  quickly 
to  the  other. 

'  The  former,  as  you  see,  is  true,  but  not  the 
latter,'  replied  my  companion  dryly,  and  in  his 
manner  was  a  touch  of  opposition  that  might  have 
been  hostility.  Their  intimacy,  I  saw,  was  close 
and  of  old  standing.  In  all  they  said  and  did  and 
looked,  there  was  an  undercurrent  of  other  meaning 
that  just  escaped  me.  They  were  up  to  something 
— they  had  been  up  to  something  ;  but  Isley  would 
have  withdrawn  if  he  could  ! 

Moleson  was  an  ambitious  and  energetic  per- 
sonality, absorbed  in  his  profession,  alive  to  the 
poetical  as  well  as  to  the  practical  value  of  archaeo- 
logy, and  he  made  at  first  a  wholly  delightful  im- 
pression upon  me.  An  instinctive  flair  for  his 
subject  had  early  in  life  brought  him  success  and 
a  measure  of  fame  as  well.  His  knowledge  was 
accurate  and  scholarly,  his  mind  saturated  in  the 
lore  of  a  vanished  civilisation.     Behind  an  exterior 


286  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

that  was  quietly  careless,  I  divined  a  passionate  and 
complex  nature,  and  I  watched  him  with  interest  as 
the  man  for  whom  the  olden  sun-worship  of  un- 
scientific days  held  some  beauty  of  reality  and  truth. 
Much  in  his  strange  book  that  had  bewildered  me 
now  seemed  intelligible  when  I  saw  the  author.  I 
cannot  explain  this  more  closely.  Something  about 
him  somehow  made  it  possible.  Though  modern  to 
the  finger-tips  and  thoroughly  equipped  with  all  the 
tendencies  of  the  day,  there  seemed  to  hide  in  him 
another  self  that  held  aloof  with  a  dignified  detach- 
ment from  the  interests  in  which  his  '  educated ' 
mind  was  centred.  He  read  living  secrets  beneath 
museum  labels,  I  might  put  it.  He  stepped  out  of 
the  days  of  the  Pharaohs  if  ever  man  did,  and  I 
realised  early  in  our  acquaintance  that  this  was  the 
man  who  had  exceptional  powers  of  '  resistance  and 
self-protection,'  and  was,  in  his  particular  branch  of 
work,  '  unusual.'  In  manner  he  was  light  and  gay, 
his  sense  of  humour  strong,  with  a  way  of  treating 
everything  as  though  laughter  was  the  sanest  attitude 
towards  life.  There  is,  however,  the  laughter  that 
hides — other  things.  Moleson,  as  I  gathered  from 
many  clues  of  talk  and  manner  and  silence,  was  a 
deep  and  singular  being.  His  experiences  in  Egypt, 
if  any,  he  had  survived  admirably.  There  were  at 
least  two  Molesons.  I  felt  him  more  than  double — 
— multiple. 

In  appearance  tall,  thin,  and  fleshless,  with  a 
dried-up  skin  and  features  withered  as  a  mummy's, 
he  said  laughingly  that  Nature  had  picked  him 
physically  for  his  c  job '  ;  and,  indeed,  one  could  see 
him  worming  his  way  down  narrow  tunnels  into  the 
sandy  tombs,  and  writhing  along  sunless  passages 
of  suffocating  heat  without  too  much   personal  in- 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  287 

convenience.  Something  sinuous,  almost  fluid  in  his 
mind  expressed  itself  in  his  body  too.  He  might 
go  in  any  direction  without  causing  surprise.  He 
might  go  backwards  or  forwards.  He  might  go  in 
two  directions  at  once. 

And  my  first  impression  of  the  man  deepened 
before  many  days  were  past.  There  was  irresponsi- 
bility in  him,  insincerity  somewhere,  almost  want  of 
heart.  His  morality  was  certainly  not  to-day's,  and 
the  mind  in  him  was  slippery.  I  think  the  modern 
world,  to  which  he  was  unattached,  confused  and 
irritated  him.  A  sense  of  insecurity  came  with  him. 
His  interest  in  George  Isley  was  the  interest  in  a 
psychological  '  specimen.'  I  remembered  how  in  his 
book  he  described  the  selection  of  individuals  for 
certain  functions  of  that  marvellous  worship,  and  the 
odd  idea  flashed  through  me — well,  that  Isley  exactly 
suited  some  purpose  of  his  re-creating  energies. 
The  man  was  keenly  observant  from  top  to  toe,  but 
not  with  his  sight  alone  ;  he  seemed  to  be  aware  of 
motives  and  emotions  before  he  noticed  the  acts  or 
gestures  that  these  caused.  I  felt  that  he  took  me 
in  as  well.  Certainly  he  eyed  me  up  and  down  by 
means  of  this  inner  observation  that  seemed  auto- 
matic with  him. 

Moleson  was  not  staying  in  our  hotel  ;  he  had 
chosen  one  where  social  life  was  more  abundant  ; 
but  he  came  up  frequently  to  lunch  and  dine,  and 
sometimes  spent  the  evening  in  Isley's  rooms, 
amusing  us  with  his  skill  upon  the  piano,  singing 
Arab  songs,  and  chanting  phrases  from  the  ancient 
Egyptian  rituals  to  rhythms  of  his  own  invention. 
The  old  Egyptian  music,  both  in  harmony  and 
melody,  was  far  more  developed  than  I  had  realised, 
the  use  of  sound  having  been  of  radical  importance 


288  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

in  their  ceremonies.  The  chanting  in  particular  he 
did  with  extraordinary  effect,  though  whether  its 
success  lay  in  his  sonorous  voice,  his  peculiar  increas- 
ing of  the  vowel  sounds,  or  in  anything  deeper,  I 
cannot  pretend  to  say.  The  result  at  any  rate  was 
of  a  unique  description.  It  brought  buried  Egypt 
to  the  surface  ;  the  gigantic  Presence  entered  sensibly 
into  the  room.  It  came,  huge  and  gorgeous,  rolling 
upon  the  mind  the  instant  he  began,  and  something 
in  it  was  both  terrible  and  oppressive.  The  repose 
of  eternity  lay  in  the  sound.  Invariably,  after  a  few 
moments  of  that  transforming  music,  I  saw  the 
Valley  of  the  Kings,  the  deserted  temples,  titanic 
faces  of  stone,  great  effigies  coifed  with  zodiacal 
signs,  but  above  all — the  twin  Colossi. 

I  mentioned  this  latter  detail. 

*  Curious  you  should  feel  that  too — curious  you 
should  say  it,  I  mean,'  Moleson  replied,  not  looking 
at  me,  yet  with  an  air  as  if  I  had  said  something  he 
expected.  '  To  me  the  Memnon  figures  express 
Egypt  better  than  all  the  other  monuments  put 
together.  Like  the  desert,  they  are  featureless. 
They  sum  her  up,  as  it  were,  yet  leave  the  message 
unuttered.  For,  you  see,  they  cannot.'  He  laughed 
a  little  in  his  throat.  '  They  have  neither  eyes  nor 
lips  nor  nose  ;  their  features  are  gone.' 

'Yet  they  tell  the  secret — to  those  who  care  to 
listen,'  put  in  Isley  in  a  scarcely  noticeable  voice. 
'  Just  because  they  have  no  words.  They  still  sing 
at  dawn,'  he  added  in  a  louder,  almost  a  challenging 
tone.     It  startled  me. 

Moleson  turned  round  at  him,  opened  his  lips  to 
speak,  hesitated,  stopped.  He  said  nothing  for  a 
moment.  I  cannot  describe  what  it  was  in  the 
lightning  glance  they  exchanged  that  put  me  on  the 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  289 

alert  for  something  other  than  was  obvious.  My 
nerves  quivered  suddenly,  and  a  breath  of  colder  air 
stole  in  among  us.  Moleson  swung  round  to  me 
again.  '  I  almost  think,'  he  said,  laughing  when  I 
complimented  him  upon  the  music,  '  that  I  must 
have  been  a  priest  of  Aton-Ra  in  an  earlier  existence, 
for  all  this  comes  to  my  finger-tips  as  if  it  were  in- 
stinctive knowledge.  Plotinus,  remember,  lived  a 
few  miles  away  at  Alexandria  with  his  great  idea 
that  knowledge  is  recollection,'  he  said,  with  a  kind 
of  cynical  amusement.  *  In  those  days,  at  any 
rate,'  he  added  more  significantly,  '  worship  was  real 
and  ceremonials  actually  expressed  great  ideas  and 
teaching.  There  was  power  in  them.'  Two  of  the 
Molesons  spoke  in  that  contradictory  utterance. 

I  saw  that  Isley  was  fidgeting  where  he  sat,  be- 
traying by  certain  gestures  that  uneasiness  was  in 
him.  He  hid  his  face  a  moment  in  his  hands ;  he 
sighed  ;  he  made  a  movement — as  though  to  pre- 
vent something  coming.  But  Moleson  resisted  his 
attempt  to  change  the  conversation,  though  the  key 
shifted  a  little  of  its  own  accord.  There  were 
numerous  occasions  like  this  when  I  was  aware  that 
both  men  skirted  something  that  had  happened, 
something  that  Moleson  wished  to  resume,  but  that 
Isley  seemed  anxious  to  postpone. 

I  found  myself  studying  Moleson's  personality, 
yet  never  getting  beyond  a  certain  point.  Shrewd, 
subtle,  with  an  acute  rather  than  a  large  intelligence, 
he  was  cynical  as  well  as  insincere,  and  yet  I  cannot 
describe  by  what  means  I  arrived  at  two  other  con- 
clusions as  well  about  him  :  first,  that  this  insincerity 
and  want  of  heart  had  not  been  so  always  ;  and, 
secondly,  that  he  sought  social  diversion  with 
deliberate   and   un-ordinary   purpose.     I   could  well 

u 


290         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

believe  that  the  first  was  Egypt's  mark  upon  him, 
and  the  second  an  effort  at  resistance  and  self- 
protection. 

'  If  it  wasn't  for  the  gaiety,'  he  remarked  once  in 
a  flippant  way  that  thinly  hid  significance,  '  a  man 
out  here  would  go  under  in  a  year.  Social  life  gets 
rather  reckless — exaggerated — people  do  things  they 
would  never  dream  of  doing  at  home.  Perhaps 
you've  noticed  it,'  he  added,  looking  suddenly  at 
me;  'Cairo  and  the  rest  —  they  plunge  at  it  as 
though  driven — a  sort  of  excess  about  it  somewhere.' 
I  nodded  agreement.  The  way  he  said  it  was  un- 
pleasant rather.  '  It's  an  antidote,'  he  said,  a  sub- 
acid flavour  in  his  tone.  '  I  used  to  loathe  society 
myself.  But  now  I  find  gaiety  —  a  certain  irre- 
sponsible excitement — of  importance.  Egypt  gets 
on  the  nerves  after  a  bit.  The  moral  fibre  fails. 
The  will  grows  weak.'  And  he  glanced  covertly  at 
Isley  as  with  a  desire  to  point  his  meaning.  '  It's 
the  clash  between  the  ugly  present  and  the  majestic 
past,  perhaps.'     He  smiled. 

Isley  shrugged  his  shoulders,  making  no  reply ; 
and  the  other  went  on  to  tell  stories  of  friends  and 
acquaintances  whom  Egypt  had  adversely  affected  : 
Barton,  the  Oxford  man,  school  teacher,  who  had 
insisted  in  living  in  a  tent  until  the  Government 
relieved  him  of  his  job.  He  took  to  his  tent, 
roamed  the  desert,  drawn  irresistibly,  practical  con- 
siderations of  the  present  of  no  avail.  This  yearn- 
ing took  him,  though  he  could  never  define  the 
exact  attraction.  In  the  end  his  mental  balance  was 
disturbed.  '  But  now  he's  all  right  again  ;  I  saw 
him  in  London  only  this  year  ;  he  can't  say  what  he 
felt  or  why  he  did  it.  Only — he's  different.'  Of 
John     Lattin,    too,     he    spoke,    whom    agarophobia 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  291 

caught  so  terribly  in  Upper  Egypt ;  of  Malahide, 
upon  whom  some  fascination  of  the  Nile  in- 
duced suicidal  mania  and  attempts  at  drowning ; 
of  Jim  Moleson,  a  cousin  (who  had  camped  at 
Thebes  with  himself  and  Isley),  whom  megalomania 
of  a  most  singular  type  attacked  suddenly  in  a 
sandy  waste — all  radically  cured  as  soon  as  they  left 
Egypt,  yet,  one  and  all,  changed  and  made  otherwise 
in  their  very  souls. 

He  talked  in  a  loose,  disjointed  way,  and  though 
much  he  said  was  fantastic,  as  if  meant  to  challenge 
opposition,  there  was  impressiveness  about  it  some- 
where, due,  I  think,  to  a  kind  of  cumulative  emotion 
he  produced. 

4  The  monuments  do  not  impress  merely  by  their 
bulk,  but  by  their  majestic  symmetry,'  I  remember 
him  saying.  '  Look  at  the  choice  of  form  alone — 
the  Pyramids,  for  instance.  No  other  shape  was 
possible  :  dome,  square,  spires,  all  would  have  been 
hideously  inadequate.  The  wedge-shaped  mass, 
immense  foundations  and  pointed  apex  were  the  mot 
juste  in  outline.  Do  you  think  people  without  great- 
ness in  themselves  chose  that  form  ?  There  was  no 
unbalance  in  the  minds  that  conceived  the  harmonious 
and  magnificent  structures  of  the  temples.  There 
was  stately  grandeur  in  their  consciousness  that  could 
only  be  born  of  truth  and  knowledge.  The  power 
in  their  images  is  a  direct  expression  of  eternal  and 
essential  things  they  knew.' 

We  listened  in  silence.  He  was  off  upon  his 
hobby.  But  behind  the  careless  tone  and  laughing 
questions  there  was  this  lurking  passionateness  that 
made  me  feel  uncomfortable.  He  was  edging  up,  I 
felt,  towards  some  climax  that  meant  life  and  death 
to  himself  and  Isley.     I  could  not  fathom  it.      My 


292  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

sympathy  let  me  in  a  little,  yet  not  enough  to  under- 
stand completely.  Isley,  I  saw,  was  also  uneasy, 
though  for  reasons  that  equally  evaded  me. 

'  One  can  almost  believe,'  he  continued,  '  that 
something  still  hangs  about  in  the  atmosphere  from 
those  olden  times.'  He  half  closed  his  eyes,  but  I 
caught  the  gleam  in  them.  '  It  affects  the  mind 
through  the  imagination.  With  some  it  changes  the 
point  of  view.  It  takes  the  soul  back  with  it  to 
former,  quite  different,  conditions,  that  must  have 
been  almost  another  kind  of  consciousness.' 

He  paused  an  instant  and  looked  up  at  us.  '  The 
intensity  of  belief  in  those  days,'  he  resumed,  since 
neither  of  us  accepted  the  challenge,  '  was  amazing — 
something  quite  unknown  anywhere  in  the  world 
to-day.  It  was  so  sure,  so  positive  ;  no  mere  specu- 
lative theories,  I  mean  ; — as  though  something  in  the 
climate,  the  exact  position  beneath  the  stars,  the 
"  attitude  "  of  this  particular  stretch  of  earth  in  rela- 
tion to  the  sun — thinned  the  veil  between  humanity 
— and  other  things.  Their  hierarchies  of  gods,  you 
know,  were  not  mere  idols  ;  animals,  birds,  monsters, 
and  what-not,  all  typified  spiritual  forces  and  powers 
that  influenced  their  daily  life.  But  the  strong  thing 
is — they  knew.  People  who  were  scientific  as  they 
were  did  not  swallow  foolish  superstitions.  They 
made  colours  that  could  last  six  thousand  years, 
even  in  the  open  air  ;  and  without  instruments  they 
measured  accurately — an  enormously  difficult  and  in- 
volved calculation — the  precession  of  the  equinoxes. 
You've  been  to  Denderah  ? ' — he  suddenly  glanced 
again  at  me.  '  No  !  Well,  the  minds  that  realised 
the  zodiacal  signs  could  hardly  believe,  you  know, 
that  Hathor  was  a  cow  ! ' 

Isley  coughed.     He  was  about  to  interrupt,  but 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  293 

before  he  could  find  words,  Moleson  was  off  again, 
some  new  quality  in  his  tone  and  manner  that  was 
almost  aggressive.  The  hints  he  offered  seemed 
more  than  hints.  There  was  a  strange  conviction 
in  his  heart.  I  think  he  was  skirting  a  bigger  thing 
that  he  and  his  companion  knew,  yet  that  his  real 
object  was  to  see  in  how  far  I  was  open  to  attack — 
how  far  my  sympathy  might  be  with  them.  I  became 
aware  that  he  and  George  Isley  shared  this  bigger 
thing.  It  was  based,  I  felt,  on  some  certain  know- 
ledge that  experiment  had  brought  them. 

*  Think  of  the  grand  teaching  of  Aknahton,  that 
young  Pharaoh  who  regenerated  the  entire  land  and 
brought  it  to  its  immense  prosperity.  He  taught 
the  worship  of  the  sun,  but  not  of  the  visible  sun. 
The  deity  had  neither  form  nor  shape.  The  great 
disk  of  glory  was  but  the  manifestation,  each 
beneficent  ray  ending  in  a  hand  that  blessed  the 
world.  It  was  a  god  of  everlasting  energy,  love 
and  power,  yet  men  could  know  it  at  first  hand  in 
their  daily  lives,  worshipping  it  at  dawn  and  sunset 
with  passionate  devotion.  No  anthropomorphic  idol 
masqueraded  in  that  I* 

An  extraordinary  glow  was  about  him  as  he  said 
it.  The  same  minute  he  lowered  his  voice,  shifting 
the  key  perceptibly.  He  kept  looking  up  at  me 
through  half-closed  eyelids. 

'And  another  thing  they  wonderfully  knew,'  he 
almost  whispered,  *  was  that,  with  the  precession  of 
their  deity  across  the  equinoctial  changes,  there  came 
new  powers  down  into  the  world  of  men.  Each 
cycle — each  zodiacal  sign — brought  its  special  powers 
which  they  quickly  typified  in  the  monstrous  effigies 
we  label  to-day  in  our  dull  museums.  Each  sign 
took  some  two  thousand  years  to  traverse.      Each 


294         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

sign,  moreover,  involved  a  change  in  human  con- 
sciousness. There  was  this  relation  between  the 
heavens  and  the  human  heart.  All  that  they  knew. 
While  the  sun  crawled  through  the  sign  of  Taurus, 
it  was  the  Bull  they  worshipped  ;  with  Aries,  it  was 
the  ram  that  coifed  their  granite  symbols.  Then 
came,  as  you  remember,  with  Pisces  the  great  New 
Arrival,  when  already  they  sank  from  their  grand 
zenith,  and  the  Fish  was  taken  as  the  emblem  of 
the  changing  powers  which  the  Christ  embodied. 
For  the  human  soul,  they  held,  echoed  the  changes 
in  the  immense  journey  of  the  original  deity,  who 
is  its  source,  across  the  Zodiac,  and  the  truth  of 
"  As  above,  so  Below  "  remains  the  key  to  all  mani- 
fested life.  And  to-day  the  sun,  just  entering 
Aquarius,  new  powers  are  close  upon  the  world. 
The  old — that  which  has  been  for  two  thousand 
years — again  is  crumbling,  passing,  dying.  New 
powers  and  a  new  consciousness  are  knocking  at 
our  doors.  It  is  a  time  of  change.  It  is  also ' — 
he  leaned  forward  so  that  his  eyes  came  close  before 
me — '  the  time  to  make  the  change.  The  soul  can 
choose  its  own  conditions.     It  can ' 

A  sudden  crash  smothered  the  rest  of  the  sentence. 
A  chair  had  fallen  with  a  clatter  upon  the  wooden 
floor  where  the  carpet  left  it  bare.  Whether  Isley 
in  rising  had  stumbled  against  it,  or  whether  he  had 
purposely  knocked  it  over,  I  could  not  say.  I  only 
knew  that  he  had  abruptly  risen  and  as  abruptly  sat 
down  again.  A  curious  feeling  came  to  me  that  the 
sign  was  somehow  prearranged.  It  was  so  sudden. 
His  voice,  too,  was  forced,  I  thought. 

'Yes,  but  we  can  do  without  all  that,  Moleson,' 
he  interrupted  with  acute  abruptness.  '  Suppose  we 
have  a  tune  instead.' 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  295 

VIII 

It  was  after  dinner  in  his  private  room,  and  he  had 
sat  very  silent  in  his  corner  until  this  sudden  outburst. 
Moleson  got  up  quietly  without  a  word  and  moved 
over  to  the  piano.  I  saw — or  was  it  imagination 
merely  ? — a  new  expression  slide  upon  his  withered 
face.     He  meant  mischief  somewhere. 

From  that  instant — from  the  moment  he  rose  and 
walked  over  the  thick  carpet — he  fascinated  me. 
The  atmosphere  his  talk  and  stories  had  brought 
remained.  His  lean  fingers  ran  over  the  keys,  and 
at  first  he  played  fragments  from  popular  musical 
comedies  that  were  pleasant  enough,  but  made  no 
demand  upon  the  attention.  I  heard  them  without 
listening.  I  was  thinking  of  another  thing — his 
walk.  For  the  way  he  moved  across  those  few  feet 
of  carpet  had  power  in  it.  He  looked  different  ;  he 
seemed  another  man  ;  he  was  changed.  I  saw  him 
curiously — as  I  sometimes  now  saw  Isley  too — 
bigger.  In  some  manner  that  was  both  enchanting 
and  oppressive,  his  presence  from  that  moment  drew 
my  imagination  as  by  an  air  of  authority  it  held. 

I  left  my  seat  in  the  far  corner  and  dropped 
into  a  chair  beside  the  window,  nearer  to  the  piano. 
Isley,  I  then  noticed,  had  also  turned  to  watch  him. 
But  it  was  George  Isley  not  quite  as  he  was  now. 
I  felt  rather  than  saw  the  change.  Both  men  had 
subtly  altered.  They  seemed  extended,  their  out- 
lines shadowy. 

Isley,  alert  and  anxious,  glanced  up  at  the  player, 
his  mind  of  earlier  years — for  the  expression  of  his 
face  was  plain — following  the  light  music,  yet  with 
difficulty  that  involved  effort,  almost  struggle.  i  Play 
that  again,  will  you  ? '  I  heard  him  say  from  time  to 


296  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

time.  He  was  trying  to  take  hold  of  it,  to  climb 
back  to  a  condition  where  that  music  had  linked  him 
to  the  present,  to  seize  a  mental  structure  that  was 
gone,  to  grip  hold  tightly  of  it — only  to  find  that  it 
was  too  far  forgotten  and  too  fragile.  It  would  not 
bear  him.  I  am  sure  of  it,  and  I  can  swear  I  divined 
his  mood.  He  fought  to  realise  himself  as  he  had 
been,  but  in  vain.  In  his  dim  corner  opposite  I 
watched  him  closely.  The  big  black  Bluthner 
blocked  itself  between  us.  Above  it  swayed  the  out- 
line, lean  and  half  shadowy,  of  Moleson  as  he  played. 
A  faint  whisper  floated  through  the  room.  '  You  are 
in  Egypt.'  Nowhere  else  could  this  queer  feeling 
of  presentiment,  of  anticipation,  have  gained  a  footing 
so  easily.  I  was  aware  of  intense  emotion  in  all  three 
of  us.  The  least  reminder  of  To-day  seemed  ugly. 
I  longed  for  some  ancient  forgotten  splendour  that 
was  lost. 

The  scene  fixed  my  attention  very  steadily,  for  I 
was  aware  of  something  deliberate  and  calculated  on 
Moleson's  part.  The  thing  was  well  considered  in 
his  mind,  intention  only  half  concealed.  It  was 
Egypt  he  interpreted  by  sound,  expressing  what  in 
him  was  true,  then  observing  its  effect,  as  he  led  us 
cleverly  towards — the  past.  Beginning  with  the 
present,  he  played  persuasively,  with  penetration, 
with  insistent  meaning  too.  He  had  that  touch 
which  conjured  up  real  atmosphere,  and,  at  first,  that 
atmosphere  termed  modern.  He  rendered  vividly 
the  note  of  London,  passing  from  the  jingles  of 
musical  comedy,  nervous  rag-times  and  sensuous 
Tango  dances,  into  the  higher  strains  of  concert 
rooms  and  '  cultured  '  circles.  Yet  not  too  abruptly. 
Most  dexterously  he  shifted  the  level,  and  with  it  our 
emotion.     I  recognised,  as  in  a  parody,  various  ultra- 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  297 

modern  thrills  :  the  tumult  of  Strauss,  the  pagan 
sweetness  of  primitive  Debussy,  the  weirdness  and 
ecstasy  of  metaphysical  Scriabin.  The  composite  note 
of  To-day  in  both  extremes,  he  brought  into  this 
private  sitting-room  of  the  desert  hotel,  while  George 
Isley,  listening  keenly,  fidgeted  in  his  chair. 

«  "  Apres  -  midi  d'un  Faune,"  '  said  Moleson 
dreamily,  answering  the  question  as  to  what  he 
played.  *  Debussy's,  you  know.  And  the  thing 
before  it  was  from  "Til  Eulenspiegel " — Strauss,  of 
course.' 

He  drawled,  swaying  slowly  with  the  rhythm,  and 
leaving  pauses  between  the  words.  His  attention 
was  not  wholly  on  his  listener,  and  in  the  voice  was 
a  quality  that  increased  my  uneasy  apprehension. 
I  felt  distress  for  Isley  somewhere.  Something,  it 
seemed,  was  coming  ;  Moleson  brought  it.  Uncon- 
sciously in  his  walk,  it  now  appeared  consciously  in 
his  music  ;  and  it  came  from  what  was  underground 
in  him.  A  charm,  a  subtle  change,  stole  oddly  over 
the  room.  It  stole  over  my  heart  as  well.  Some 
power  of  estimating  left  me,  as  though  my  mind 
were  slipping  backwards  and  losing  familiar,  common 
standards. 

'  The  true  modern  note  in  it,  isn't  there  ? '  he 
drawled  ;  '  cleverness,  I  think — intellectual — surface 
ingenuity — no  depth  or  permanence — just  the  sensa- 
tional brilliance  of  To-day.'  He  turned  and  stared 
at  me  fixedly  an  instant.  '  Nothing  everlasting,'  he 
added  impressively.  *  It  tells  everything  it  knows — 
because  it's  small  enough ' 

And  the  room  turned  pettier  as  he  said  it  ; 
another,  bigger  shadow  draped  its  little  walls. 
Through  the  open  windows  came  a  stealthy  gesture 
of  eternity.    The  atmosphere  stretched  visibly.    Mole- 


298  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

son  was  playing  a  marvellous  fragment  from  Scria- 
bin's  *  Prometheus.'  It  sounded  thin  and  shallow. 
This  modern  music,  all  of  it,  was  out  of  place  and 
trivial.  It  was  almost  ridiculous.  The  scale  of  our 
emotion  changed  insensibly  into  a  deeper  thing  that 
has  no  name  in  dictionaries,  being  of  another  age. 
And  I  glanced  at  the  windows  where  stone  columns 
framed  dim  sections  of  great  Egypt  listening  outside. 
There  was  no  moon  ;  only  deep  draughts  of  stars 
blazed,  hanging  in  the  sky.  I  thought  with  awe  of 
the  mysterious  knowledge  that  vanished  people  had 
of  these  stars,  and  of  the  Sun's  huge  journey  through 
the  Zodiac.  .  .  . 

And,  with  astonishing  suddenness  as  of  dream, 
there  rose  a  pictured  image  against  that  starlit  sky. 
Lifted  into  the  air,  between  heaven  and  earth,  I  saw 
float  swiftly  past  a  panorama  of  the  stately  temples, 
led  by  Denderah,  Edfu,  Abou  Simbel.  It  paused, 
it  hovered,  it  disappeared.  Leaving  incalculable 
solemnity  behind  it  in  the  air,  it  vanished,  and  to  see 
so  vast  a  thing  move  at  that  easy  yet  unhasting  speed 
unhinged  some  sense  of  measurement  in  me.  It  was, 
of  course,  I  assured  myself,  mere  memory  objectified 
owing  to  something  that  the  music  summoned,  yet 
the  apprehension  rose  in  me  that  the  whole  of  Egypt 
presently  would  stream  past  in  similar  fashion — Egypt 
as  she  was  in  the  zenith  of  her  unrecoverable  past. 
Behind  the  tinkling  of  the  modern  piano  passed  the 
rustling  of  a  multitude,  the  tramping  of  countless  feet 
on  sand.  ...  It  was  singularly  vivid.  It  arrested 
in  me  something  that  normally  went  flowing.  .  .  . 
And  when  I  turned  my  head  towards  the  room  to 
call  attention  to  my  strange  experience,  the  eyes  of 
Moleson,  I  saw,  were  laid  upon  my  own.  He  stared 
at  me.     The  light    in    them    transfixed    me,  and  I 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  299 

understood  that  the  illusion  was  due  in  some  manner 
to  his  evocation.  Isley  rose  at  the  same  moment  from 
his  chair.  The  thing  I  had  vaguely  been  expecting 
had  shifted  closer.  And  the  same  moment  the 
musician  abruptly  changed  his  key. 

'You  may  like  this  better,'  he  murmured,  half  to 
himself,  but  in  tones  he  somehow  made  echoing. 
'  It's  more  suited  to  the  place.'  There  was  a  reson- 
ance in  the  voice  as  though  it  emerged  from  hollows 
underground.  '  The  other  seems  almost  sacrilegious 
— here.'  And  his  voice  drawled  off  in  the  rhythm 
of  slower  modulations  that  he  played.  It  had  grown 
muffled.  There  was  an  impression,  too,  that  he  did 
not  strike  the  piano,  but  that  the  music  issued  from 
himself. 

'  Place  !  What  place  ? '  asked  Isley  quickly.  His 
head  turned  sharply  as  he  spoke.  His  tone,  in  its 
remoteness,  made  me  tremble. 

The  musician  laughed  to  himself.  '  I  meant  that 
this  hotel  seems  really  an  impertinence,'  he  murmured, 
leaning  down  upon  the  notes  he  played  upon  so  softly 
and  so  well  ;  *  and  that  it's  but  the  thinnest  kind  of 
pretence — when  you  come  to  think  of  it.  We  are  in 
the  desert  really.  The  Colossi  are  outside,  and  all 
the  emptied  temples.  Or  ought  to  be,'  he  added, 
raising  his  tone  abruptly  with  a  glance  at  me. 

He  straightened  up  and  stared  out  into  the  starry 
sky  past  George  Isley 's  shoulders. 

'  That,'  he  exclaimed  with  betraying  vehemence, 
1  is  where  we  are  and  what  we  play  to  ! '  His  voice 
suddenly  increased  ;  there  was  a  roar  in  it.  '  That,' 
he  repeated,  '  is  the  thing  that  takes  our  hearts  away.' 
The  volume  of  intonation  was  astonishing. 

For  the  way  he  uttered  the  monosyllable  suddenly 
revealed  the  man  beneath  the  outer  sheath  of  cynicism 


3oo  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

and  laughter,  explained  his  heartlessness,  his  secret 
stream  of  life.  He,  too,  was  soul  and  body  in  the 
past.  *  That '  revealed  more  than  pages  of  descrip- 
tive phrases.  His  heart  lived  in  the  temple  aisles,  his 
mind  unearthed  forgotten  knowledge  ;  his  soul  had 
clothed  itself  anew  in  the  seductive  glory  of  antiquity  : 
he  dwelt  with  a  quickening  magic  of  existence  in  the 
reconstructed  splendour  of  what  most  term  only  ruins. 
He  and  George  Isley  together  had  revivified  a  power 
that  enticed  them  backwards  ;  but  whereas  the  latter 
struggled  still,  the  former  had  already  made  his  per- 
manent home  there.  The  faculty  in  me  that  saw  the 
vision  of  streaming  temples  saw  also  this — remorse- 
lessly definite.  Moleson  himself  sat  naked  at  that 
piano.  I  saw  him  clearly  then.  He  no  longer 
masqueraded  behind  his  sneers  and  laughter.  He, 
too,  had  long  ago  surrendered,  lost  himself,  gone  out, 
and  from  the  place  his  soul  now  dwelt  in  he  watched 
George  Isley  sinking  down  to  join  him.  He  lived  in 
ancient,  subterranean  Egypt.  This  great  hotel  stood 
precariously  on  the  merest  upper  crust  of  desert. 
A  thousand  tombs,  a  hundred  temples  lay  outside, 
within  reach  almost  of  our  very  voices.  Moleson 
was  merged  with  '  that.' 

This  intuition  flashed  upon  me  like  the  picture 
in  the  sky  ;  and  both  were  true. 

And,  meanwhile,  this  other  thing  he  played  had 
a  surge  of  power  in  it  impossible  to  describe.  It 
was  sombre,  huge  and  solemn.  It  conveyed  the 
power  that  his  walk  conveyed.  There  was  distance 
in  it,  but  a  distance  not  of  space  alone.  A  remote- 
ness of  time  breathed  through  it  with  that  strange 
sadness  and  melancholy  yearning  that  enormous 
interval  brings.  It  marched,  but  very  far  away  ;  it 
held  refrains  that  assumed  the  rhythms  of  a  multi- 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  301 

tude  the  centuries  muted  ;  it  sang,  but  the  singing 
was  underground  in  passages  that  fine  sand  muffled. 
Lost,  wandering  winds  sighed  through  it,  booming. 
The  contrast,  after  the  modern,  cheaper  music,  was 
dislocating.  Yet  the  change  had  been  quite  naturally 
effected. 

'  It  would  sound  empty  and  monotonous  else- 
where— in  London,  for  instance,'  I  heard  Moleson 
drawling,  as  he  swayed  to  and  fro,  '  but  here  it  is  big 
and  splendid — true.  You  hear  what  I  mean,'  he 
added  gravely.     '  You  understand  ?  ' 

'  What  is  it  ?  '  asked  Isley  thickly,  before  I  could 
say  a  word.  '  I  forget  exactly.  It  has  tears  in  it — 
more  than  I  can  bear.'  The  end  of  his  sentence  died 
away  in  his  throat. 

Moleson  did  not  look  at  him  as  he  answered. 
He  looked  at  me. 

'  You  surely  ought  to  know,'  he  replied,  the  voice 
rising  and  falling  as  though  the  rhythm  forced  it. 
*  You  have  heard  it  all  before — that  chant  from  the 
ritual  we ' 

Isley  sprang  up  and  stopped  him.  I  did  not  hear 
the  sentence  complete.  An  extraordinary  thought 
blazed  into  me  that  the  voices  of  both  men  were  not 
quite  their  own.  I  fancied — wild,  impossible  as  it 
sounds — that  I  heard  the  twin  Colossi  singing  to 
each  other  in  the  dawn.  Stupendous  ideas  sprang 
past  me,  leaping.  It  seemed  as  though  eternal 
symbols  of  the  cosmos,  discovered  and  worshipped  in 
this  ancient  land,  leaped  into  awful  life.  My  con- 
sciousness became  enveloping.  I  had  the  distressing 
feeling  that  ages  slipped  out  of  place  and  took  me 
with  them  ;  they  dominated  me  ;  they  rushed  me  off 
my  feet  like  water.  I  was  drawn  backwards.  I,  too, 
was  changing — being  changed. 


3o2  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

'  I  remember/  said  Isley  softly,  a  reverence  of 
worship  in  his  voice.  But  there  was  anguish  in  it 
too,  and  pity  ;  he  let  the  present  go  completely  from 
him  ;  the  last  strands  severed  with  a  wrench  of  pain. 
I  imagined  I  heard  his  soul  pass  weeping  far  away — 
below. 

'  I'll  sing  it,'  murmured  Moleson,  '  for  the  voice 
is  necessary.  The  sound  and  rhythm  are  utterly 
divine  !  ' 


IX 

And  forthwith  his  voice  began  a  series  of  long- 
drawn  cadences  that  seemed  somehow  the  root- 
sounds  of  every  tongue  that  ever  was.  A  spell  came 
over  me  I  could  touch  and  feel.  A  web  encompassed 
me  ;  my  arms  and  feet  became  entangled  ;  a  veil  of 
fine  threads  wove  across  my  eyes.  The  enthralling 
power  of  the  rhythm  produced  some  magical  move- 
ment in  the  soul.  I  was  aware  of  life  everywhere 
about  me,  far  and  near,  in  the  dwellings  of  the  dead, 
as  also  in  the  corridors  of  the  iron  hills.  Thebes 
stood  erect,  and  Memphis  teemed  upon  the  river 
banks.  For  the  modern  world  fell,  swaying,  at  this 
sound  that  restored  the  past,  and  in  this  past  both 
men  before  me  lived  and  had  their  being.  The 
storm  of  present  life  passed  o'er  their  heads,  while 
they  dwelt  underground,  obliterated,  gone.  Upon 
the  wave  of  sound  they  went  down  into  their  recovered 
kingdom. 

I  shivered,  moved  vigorously,  half  rose  up,  then 
instantly  sank  back  again,  resigned  and  helpless. 
For  I  entered  by  their  side,  it  seemed,  the  conditions 
of  their  strange  captivity.  My  thoughts,  my  feelings, 
my  point  of  view  were  transplanted  to  another  centre. 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  303 

Consciousness  shifted  in  me.  I  saw  things  from 
another's  point  of  view — antiquity's. 

The  present  forgotten  but  the  past  supreme,  I  lost 
Reality.  Our  room  became  a  pin-point  picture  seen 
in  a  drop  of  water,  while  this  subterranean  world, 
replacing  it,  turned  immense.  My  heart  took  on 
the  gigantic,  leisured  stride  of  what  had  been.  Pro- 
portions grew  ;  size  captured  me  ;  and  magnitude, 
turned  monstrous,  swept  mere  measurement  away. 
Some  hand  of  golden  sunshine  picked  me  up  and  set 
me  in  the  quivering  web  beside  those  other  two. 
I  heard  the  rustle  of  the  settling  threads  ;  I  heard 
the  shuffling  of  the  feet  in  sand  ;  I  heard  the  whispers 
in  the  dwellings  of  the  dead.  Behind  the  monotony 
of  this  sacerdotal  music  I  heard  them  in  their  dim 
carved  chambers.  The  ancient  galleries  were  awake. 
The  Life  of  unremembered  ages  stirred  in  multitudes 
about  me. 

The  reality  of  so  incredible  an  experience  evaporates 
through  the  stream  of  language.  I  can  only  affirm 
this  singular  proof — that  the  deepest,  most  satisfying 
knowledge  the  Present  could  offer  seemed  insig- 
nificant beside  some  stalwart  majesty  of  the  Past 
that  utterly  usurped  it.  This  modern  room,  holding 
a  piano  and  two  figures  of  To-day,  appeared  as  a 
paltry  miniature  pinned  against  a  vast  transparent 
curtain,  whose  foreground  was  thick  with  symbols  of 
temple,  sphinx  and  pyramid,  but  whose  background 
of  stupendous  hanging  grey  slid  off*  towards  a 
splendour  where  the  cities  of  the  Dead  shook  off" 
their  sand  and  thronged  space  to  its  ultimate  horizons. 
.  .  .  The  stars,  the  entire  universe,  vibrating  and 
alive,  became  involved  in  it.  Long  periods  of  time 
slipped  past  me.  I  seemed  living  ages  ago.  ...  I 
was  living  backwards.   .  *.   . 


3°4 


INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 


The  size  and  eternity  of  Egypt  took  me  easily. 
There  was  an  overwhelming  grandeur  in  it  that 
elbowed  out  all  present  standards.  The  whole  place 
towered  and  stood  up.  The  desert  reared,  the  very 
horizons  lifted  ;  majestic  figures  of  granite  rose 
above  the  hotel,  great  faces  hovered  and  drove  past ; 
huge  arms  reached  up  to  pluck  the  stars  and  set  them 
in  the  ceilings  of  the  labyrinthine  tombs.  The 
colossal  meaning  of  the  ancient  land  emerged  through 
all  its  ruined  details  .  .  .  reconstructed — burningly 
alive.  .   .   . 

It  became  at  length  unbearable.  I  longed  for  the 
droning  sounds  to  cease,  for  the  rhythm  to  lessen  its 
prodigious  sweep.  My  heart  cried  out  for  the  gold 
of  the  sunlight  on  the  desert,  for  the  sweet  air  by  the 
river's  banks,  for  the  violet  lights  upon  the  hills  at 
dawn.     And  I  resisted,  I  made  an  effort  to  return. 

'  Your  chant  is  horrible.  For  God's  sake,  let's 
have  an  Arab  song — or  the  music  of  To-day  ! ' 

The  effort  was  intense,  the  result  was — nothing. 
I  swear  I  used  these  words.  I  heard  the  actual  sound 
of  my  voice,  if  no  one  else  did,  for  I  remember  that 
it  was  pitiful  in  the  way  great  space  devoured  it, 
making  of  its  appreciable  volume  the  merest  whisper 
as  of  some  bird  or  insect  cry.  But  the  figure  that  I 
took  for  Moleson,  instead  of  answer  or  acknowledg- 
ment, merely  grew  and  grew  as  things  grow  in  a 
fairy  tale.  I  hardly  know  ;  I  certainly  cannot  say. 
That  dwindling  part  of  me  which  offered  comments 
on  the  entire  occurrence  noted  this  extraordinary 
effect  as  though  it  happened  naturally — that  Moleson 
himself  was  marvellously  increasing. 

The  entire  spell  became  operative  all  at  once.  I 
experienced  both  the  delight  of  complete  abandon- 
ment and  the  terror  of  letting  go  what  had  seemed 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  305 

real.  I  understood  Moleson's  sham  laughter,  and 
the  subtle  resignation  of  George  Isley.  And  an 
amazing  thought  flashed  birdlike  across  my  changing 
consciousness — that  this  resurrection  into  the  Past, 
this  rebirth  of  the  spirit  which  they  sought,  involved 
taking  upon  themselves  the  guise  of  these  ancient 
symbols  each  in  turn.  As  the  embryo  assumes 
each  evolutionary  stage  below  it  before  the  human 
semblance  is  attained,  so  the  souls  of  those  two 
adventurers  took  upon  themselves  the  various  emblems 
of  that  intense  belief.  The  devout  worshipper  takes 
on  the  qualities  of  his  deity.  They  wore  the  entire 
series  of  the  old-world  gods  so  potently  that  I 
perceived  them,  and  even  objectified  them  by  my 
senses.  The  present  was  their  pre-natal  stage  ;  to 
enter  the  past  they  were  being  born  again. 

But  it  was  not  Moleson's  semblance  alone  that 
took  on  this  awful  change.  Both  faces,  scaled  to  the 
measure  of  Egypt's  outstanding  quality  of  size, 
became  in  this  little  modern  room  distressingly 
immense.  Distorting  mirrors  can  suggest  no  simile, 
for  the  symmetry  of  proportion  was  not  injured. 
I  lost  their  human  physiognomies.  I  saw  their 
thoughts,  their  feelings,  their  augmented,  altered 
hearts,  the  thing  that  Egypt  put  there  while  she 
stole  their  love  from  modern  life.  There  grew  an 
awful  stateliness  upon  them  that  was  huge,  mysterious, 
and  motionless  as  stone. 

For  Moleson's  narrow  face  at  first  turned  hawk- 
like in  the  semblance  of  the  sinister  deity,  Horus, 
only  stretched  to  tower  above  the  toy-scaled  piano  ; 
it  was  keen  and  sly  and  monstrous  after  prey,  while 
a  swiftness  of  the  sunrise  leaped  from  both  the 
brilliant  eyes.  George  Isley,  equally  immense  of 
outline,  was  in  general  presentment   more   magnifi- 

x 


3o6         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

cent,  a  breadth  of  the  Sphinx  about  his  spreading 
shoulders,  and  in  his  countenance  an  inscrutable 
power  of  calm  temple  images.  These  were  the  first 
signs  of  obsession  ;  but  others  followed.  In  rapid 
series,  like  lantern-slides  upon  a  screen,  the  ancient 
symbols  flashed  one  after  another  across  these  two 
extended  human  faces  and  were  gone.  Disentangle- 
ment became  impossible.  The  successive  signatures 
seemed  almost  superimposed  as  in  a  composite  photo- 
graph, each  appearing  and  vanished  before  recogni- 
tion was  even  possible,  while  I  interpreted  the  inner 
alchemy  by  means  of  outer  tokens  familiar  to  my 
senses.  Egypt,  possessing  them,  expressed  herself 
thus  marvellously  in  their  physical  aspect,  using  the 
symbols  of  her  intense,  regenerative  power.   .   .   . 

The  changes  merged  with  such  swiftness  into  one 
another  that  I  did  not  seize  the  half  of  them — till, 
finally,  the  procession  culminated  in  a  single  one  that 
remained  fixed  awfully  upon  them  both.  The  entire 
series  merged.  I  was  aware  of  this  single  masterful 
image  which  summed  up  all  the  others  in  sublime 
repose.  The  gigantic  thing  rose  up  in  this  incredible 
statue  form.  The  spirit  of  Egypt  synthesised  in  this 
monstrous  symbol,  obliterated  them  both.  I  saw  the 
seated  figures  of  the  grim  Colossi,  dipped  in  sand, 
night  over  them,  waiting  for  the  dawn.   .   .   . 

X 

I  made  a  violent  effort,  then,  at  self-assertion — an 
effort  to  focus  my  mind  upon  the  present.  And, 
searching  for  Moleson  and  George  Isley,  its  nearest 
details,  I  was  aware  that  I  could  not  find  them.  The 
familiar  figures  of  my  two  companions  were  not  dis- 
coverable. 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  307 

I  saw  it  as  plainly  as  I  also  saw  that  ludicrous, 
wee  piano  —  for  a  moment.  But  the  moment  re- 
mained ;  the  Eternity  of  Egypt  stayed.  For  that 
lonely  and  terrific  pair  had  stooped  their  shoulders 
and  bowed  their  awful  heads.  They  were  in  the 
room.  They  imaged  forth  the  power  of  the  everlast- 
ing Past  through  the  little  structures  of  two  human 
worshippers.  Room,  walls,  and  ceiling  fled  away. 
Sand  and  the  open  sky  replaced  them. 

The  two  of  them  rose  side  by  side  before  my 
bursting  eyes.  I  knew  not  where  to  look.  Like 
some  child  who  confronts  its  giants  upon  the  nursery 
floor,  I  turned  to  stone,  unable  to  think  or  move.  I 
stared.  Sight  wrenched  itself  to  find  the  men  familiar 
to  it,  but  found  instead  this  symbolising  vision.  I 
could  not  see  them  properly.  Their  faces  were  spread 
with  hugeness,  their  features  lost  in  some  uncommon 
magnitude,  their  shoulders,  necks,  and  arms  grown 
vast  upon  the  air.  As  with  the  desert,  there  was 
physiognomy  yet  no  personal  expression,  the  human 
thing  all  drowned  within  the  mass  of  battered  stone. 
I  discovered  neither  cheeks  nor  mouth  nor  jaw,  but 
ruined  eyes  and  lips  of  broken  granite.  Huge, 
motionless,  mysterious,  Egypt  informed  them  and 
took  them  to  herself.  And  between  us,  curiously 
presented  in  some  false  perspective,  I  saw  the  little 
symbol  of  To-day  —  the  Bluthner  piano.  It  was 
appalling.  I  knew  a  second  of  majestic  horror. 
I  blenched.  Hot  and  cold  gushed  through  me. 
Strength  left  me,  power  of  speech  and  movement 
too,  as  in  a  moment  of  complete  paralysis. 

The  spell,  moreover,  was  not  within  the  room 
alone  ;  it  was  outside  and  everywhere.  The  Past 
stood  massed  about  the  very  walls  of  the  hotel. 
Distance,  as    well    as    time,    stepped    nearer.     That 


3o8  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

chanting  summoned  the  gigantic  items  in  all  their 
ancient  splendour.  The  shadowy  concourse  grouped 
itself  upon  the  sand  about  us,  and  I  was  aware  that 
the  great  army  shifted  noiselessly  into  place  ;  that 
pyramids  soared  and  towered  ;  that  deities  of  stone 
stood  by  ;  that  temples  ranged  themselves  in  recon- 
structed beauty,  grave  as  the  night  of  time  whence 
they  emerged  ;  and  that  the  outline  of  the  Sphinx, 
motionless  but  aggressive,  piled  its  dim  bulk  upon 
the  atmosphere.  Immensity  answered  to  immensity. 
.  .  .  There  were  vast  intervals  of  time  and  there 
were  reaches  of  enormous  distance,  yet  all  happened 
in  a  moment,  and  all  happened  within  a  little  space. 
It  was  now  and  here.  Eternity  whispered  in  every 
second  as  in  every  grain  of  sand.  Yet,  while  aware 
of  so  many  stupendous  details  all  at  once,  I  was  really 
aware  of  one  thing  only — that  the  spirit  of  ancient 
Egypt  faced  me  in  these  two  terrific  figures,  and  that 
my  consciousness,  stretched  painfully  yet  gloriously, 
included  all,  as  She  also  unquestionably  included 
them — and  me. 

For  it  seemed  I  shared  the  likeness  of  my  two 
companions.  Some  lesser  symbol,  though  of  similar 
kind,  obsessed  me  too.  I  tried  to  move,  but  my  feet 
were  set  in  stone  ;  my  arms  lay  fixed  ;  my  body  was 
embedded  in  the  rock.  Sand  beat  sharply  upon  my 
outer  surface,  urged  upwards  in  little  flurries  by  a 
chilly  wind.  There  was  nothing  felt  :  I  heard  the 
rattle  of  the  scattering  grains  against  my  hardened 
body.   .  .   . 

And  we  waited  for  the  dawn  ;  for  the  resurrection 
of  that  unchanging  deity  who  was  the  source  and  in- 
spiration of  all  our  glorious  life.  .  .  .  The  air  grew 
keen  and  fresh.  In  the  distance  a  line  of  sky  turned 
from  pink  to  violet  and  gold  ;  a  delicate  rose  next 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  309 

flushed  the  desert ;  a  few  pale  stars  hung  fainting 
overhead  ;  and  the  wind  that  brought  the  sunrise  was 
already  stirring.  The  whole  land  paused  upon  the 
coming  of  its  mighty  God.   .  .   . 

Into  the  pause  there  rose  a  curious  sound  for  which 
we  had  been  waiting.  For  it  came  familiarly,  as  though 
expected.  I  could  have  sworn  at  first  that  it  was 
George  Isley  who  sang,  answering  his  companion. 
There  beat  behind  its  great  volume  the  same  note 
and  rhythm,  only  so  prodigiously  increased  that, 
while  Moleson's  chant  had  waked  it,  it  now  was 
independent  and  apart.  The  resonant  vibrations  of 
what  he  sang  had  reached  down  into  the  places  where 
it  slept.  They  uttered  synchronously.  Egypt  spoke. 
There  was  in  it  the  deep  muttering  as  of  a  thousand 
drums,  as  though  the  desert  uttered  in  prodigious 
syllables.  I  listened  while  my  heart  of  stone  stood 
still.  There  were  two  voices  in  the  sky.  They  spoke 
tremendously  with  each  other  in  the  dawn  : 

'  So  easily  we  still  remain  possessors  of  the  land. 
.   .   .  While  the  centuries  roar  past  us  and  are  gone.' 

Soft  with  power  the  syllables  rolled  forth,  yet 
with  a  booming  depth  as  though  caverns  underground 
produced  them. 

1  Our  silence  is  disturbed.  Pass  on  with  the 
multitude  towards  the  East.  .  .  .  Still  in  the  dawn 
we  sing  the  old-world  wisdom.  .  .  .  They  shall  hear 
our  speech,  yet  shall  not  hear  it  with  their  ears  of  flesh. 
At  dawn  our  words  go  forth,  searching  the  distances 
of  sand  and  time  across  the  sunlight.  ...  At  dusk 
they  return,  as  upon  eagles'  wings,  entering  again 
our  lips  of  stone.  .  .  .  Each  century  one  syllable, 
yet  no  sentence  yet  complete.  While  our  lips  are 
broken  with  the  utterance.   .   .   . 

It  seemed  that  hours  and  months  and  years  went 


3io         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

past  me  while  I  listened  in  my  sandy  bed.  The 
Fragments  died  far  away,  then  sounded  very  close 
again.  It  was  as  though  mountain  peaks  sang  to 
one  another  above  clouds.  Wind  caught  the  muffled 
roar  away.  Wind  brought  it  back.  .  .  .  Then,  in 
a  hollow  pause  that  lasted  years,  conveying  marvel- 
lously the  passage  of  long  periods,  I  heard  the  utter- 
ance more  clearly.  The  leisured  roll  of  the  great 
voice  swept  through  me  like  a  flood  : 

'  We  wait  and  watch  and  listen  in  our  loneliness. 
We  do  not  close  our  eyes.  The  moon  and  stars  sail 
past  us,  and  our  river  finds  the  sea.  We  bring 
Eternity  upon  your  broken  lives.  .  .  .  We  see  you 
build  your  little  lines  of  steel  across  our  territory 
behind  the  thin  white  smoke.  We  hear  the  whistle 
of  your  messengers  of  iron  through  the  air.  .  .  .  The 
nations  rise  and  pass.  The  empires  flutter  westwards 
and  are  gone.  .  .  .  The  sun  grows  older  and  the  stars 
turn  pale.  .  .  .  Winds  shift  the  line  of  the  horizons, 
and  our  River  moves  its  bed.  But  we,  everlasting 
and  unchangeable,  remain.  Of  water,  sand  and  fire 
is  our  essential  being,  yet  built  within  the  universal 
air.  .  .  .  There  is  no  pause  in  life,  there  is  no  break 
in  death.  The  changes  bring  no  end.  The  sun 
returns.  .  .  .  There  is  eternal  resurrection.  .  .  . 
But  our  kingdom  is  underground  in  shadow,  un- 
realised of  your  little  day.  .  .  .  Come,  come !  The 
temples  still  are  crowded,  and  our  Desert  blesses  you. 
Our  River  takes  your  feet.  Our  sand  shall  purify, 
and  the  fire  of  our  God  shall  burn  you  sweetly  into 
wisdom.  .  .  .  Come,  then,  and  worship,  for  the  time 
draws  near.     It  is  the  dawn.  .  .   .' 

The  voices  died  down  into  depths  that  the  sand 
of  ages  muffled,  while  the  flaming  dawn  of  the  East 
rushed  up  the  sky.     Sunrise,  the   great  symbol  of 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  311 

life's  endless  resurrection,  was  at  hand.  About  me, 
in  immense  but  shadowy  array,  stood  the  whole  of 
ancient  Egypt,  hanging  breathlessly  upon  the  moment 
of  adoration.  No  longer  stern  and  terrible  in  the 
splendour  of  their  long  neglect,  the  effigies  rose  erect 
with  passionate  glory,  a  forest  of  stately  stone.  Their 
granite  lips  were  parted  and  their  ancient  eyes  were 
wide.  All  faced  the  east.  And  the  sun  drew  nearer 
to  the  rim  of  the  attentive  Desert. 


XI 

Emotion  there  seemed  none,  in  the  sense  that  / 
knew  feeling.  I  knew,  if  anything,  the  ultimate 
secrets  of  two  primitive  sensations — joy  and  awe.  .  .  . 
The  dawn  grew  swiftly  brighter.  There  was  gold, 
as  though  the  sands  of  Nubia  spilt  their  brilliance  on 
each  shining  detail  ;  there  was  glory,  as  though  the 
retreating  tide  of  stars  spilt  their  light  foam  upon  the 
world  ;  and  there  was  passion,  as  though  the  beliefs 
of  all  the  ages  floated  back  with  abandonment  into 
the — Sun.  Ruined  Egypt  merged  into  a  single 
temple  of  elemental  vastness  whose  floor  was  the 
empty  desert,  but  whose  walls  rose  to  the  stars. 

Abruptly,  then,  chanting  and  rhythm  ceased ; 
they  dipped  below.  Sand  muffled  them.  And  the 
Sun  looked  down  upon  its  ancient  world.  .  .   . 

A  radiant  warmth  poured  through  me.  I  found 
that  I  could  move  my  limbs  again.  A  sense  of 
triumphant  life  ran  through  my  stony  frame.  For 
one  passing  second  I  heard  the  shower  of  gritty 
particles  upon  my  surface  like  sand  blown  upwards 
by  a  gust  of  wind,  but  this  time  I  could  feel  the  sting 
of  it  upon  my  skin.  It  passed.  The  drenching  heat 
bathed  me  from  head  to  foot,  while  stony  insensibility 


312 


INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 


gave  place  with  returning  consciousness  to  flesh  and 
blood.  The  sun  had  risen.  ...  I  was  alive,  but  I 
was — changed. 

It  seemed  I  opened  my  eyes.  An  immense  relief 
was  in  me.  I  turned  ;  I  drew  a  deep,  refreshing 
breath  ;  I  stretched  one  leg  upon  a  thick,  green 
carpet.  Something  had  left  me  ;  another  thing  had 
returned.  I  sat  up,  conscious  of  welcome  release,  of 
freedom,  of  escape. 

There  was  some  violent,  disorganising  break.  I 
found  myself;  I  found  Moleson  ;  I  found  George 
Isley  too.  He  had  got  shifted  in  that  room  without 
my  being  aware  of  it.  Isley  had  risen.  He  came 
upon  me  like  a  blow.  I  saw  him  move  his  arms. 
Fire  flashed  from  below  his  hands ;  and  I  realised  then 
that  he  was  turning  on  the  electric  lights.  They 
emerged  from  different  points  along  the  walls,  in  the 
alcove,  beneath  the  ceiling,  by  the  writing-table  ;  and 
one  had  just  that  minute  blazed  into  my  eyes  from 
a  bracket  close  above  me.  I  was  back  again  in  the 
Present  among  modern  things. 

But,  while  most  of  the  details  presented  themselves 
gradually  to  my  recovered  senses,  Isley  returned  with 
this  curious  effect  of  speed  and  distance — like  a  blow 
upon  the  mind.  From  great  height  and  from  pro- 
digious size — he  dropped.  I  seemed  to  find  him 
rushing  at  me.  Moleson  was  simply  *  there  '  ;  there 
was  no  speed  or  sudden  change  in  him  as  with  the 
other.  Motionless  at  the  piano,  his  long  thin  hands 
lay  down  upon  the  keys  yet  did  not  strike  them. 
But  Isley  came  back  like  lightning  into  the  little 
room,  signs  of  the  monstrous  obsession  still  about  his 
altering  features.  There  was  battle  and  worship 
mingled  in  his  deep-set  eyes.  His  mouth,  though 
set,  was  smiling.     With  a  shudder  I  positively  saw 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  313 

the  vastness  slipping  from  his  face  as  shadows  from 
a  stretch  of  broken  cliff.  There  was  this  awful 
mingling  of  proportions.  The  colossal  power  that 
had  resumed  his  being  drew  slowly  inwards.  There 
was  collapse  in  him.  And  upon  the  sunburned 
cheek  of  his  rugged  face  I  saw  a  tear. 

Poignant  revulsion  caught  me  then  for  a  moment. 
The  present  showed  itself  in  rags.  The  reduction  of 
scale  was  painful.  I  yearned  for  the  splendour  that 
was  gone,  yet  still  seemed  so  hauntingly  almost 
within  reach.  The  cheapness  of  the  hotel  room,  the 
glaring  ugliness  of  its  tinsel  decoration,  the  baseness 
of  ideals  where  utility  instead  of  beauty,  gain  instead 
of  worship,  governed  life — this,  with  the  dwindled 
aspect  of  my  companions  to  the  insignificance  of 
marionettes,  brought  a  hungry  pain  that  was  at  first 
intolerable.  In  the  glare  of  light  I  noticed  the 
small  round  face  of  the  portable  clock  upon  the 
mantelpiece,  showing  half-past  eleven.  Moleson  had 
been  two  hours  at  the  piano.  And  this  measuring 
faculty  of  my  mind  completed  the  disillusionment. 
I  was,  indeed,  back  among  present  things.  The 
mechanical  spirit  of  To-day  imprisoned  me  again. 

For  a  considerable  interval  we  neither  moved  nor 
spoke ;  the  sudden  change  left  the  emotions  in 
confusion  ;  we  had  leaped  from  a  height,  from  the 
top  of  the  pyramid,  from  a  star — and  the  crash  of 
landing  scattered  thought.  I  stole  a  glance  at  Isley, 
wondering  vaguely  why  he  was  there  at  all  ;  the  look 
of  resignation  had  replaced  the  power  in  his  face  ; 
the  tear  was  brushed  away.  There  was  no  struggle 
in  him  now,  no  sign  of  resistance  ;  there  was 
abandonment  only  ;  he  seemed  insignificant.  The 
real  George  Isley  was  elsewhere  :  he  himself  had  not 
returned. 


3 14         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

By  jerks,  as  it  were,  and  by  awkward  stages,  then, 
we  all  three  came  back  to  common  things  again.  I 
found  that  we  were  talking  ordinarily,  asking  each 
other  questions,  answering,  lighting  cigarettes,  and 
all  the  rest.  Moleson  played  some  commonplace 
chords  upon  the  piano,  while  he  leaned  back  listlessly 
in  his  chair,  putting  in  sentences  now  and  again  and 
chatting  idly  to  whichever  of  us  would  listen.  And 
Isley  came  slowly  across  the  room  towards  me, 
holding  out  cigarettes.  His  dark  brown  face  had 
shadows  on  it.  He  looked  exhausted,  worn,  like 
some  soldier  broken  in  the  wars. 

'  You  liked  it  ?  '  I  heard  his  thin  voice  asking. 
There  was  no  interest,  no  expression  ;  it  was  not 
the  real  Isley  who  spoke ;  it  was  the  little  part 
of  him  that  had  come  back.  He  smiled  like  a 
marvellous  automaton. 

Mechanically  I  took  the  cigarette  he  offered  me, 
thinking  confusedly  what  answer  I  could  make. 

1  It's  irresistible,'  I  murmured  ;  '  I  understand  that 
it's  easier  to  go.' 

*  Sweeter  as  well,'  he  whispered  with  a  sigh,  *  and 
very  wonderful ! ' 

XII 

The  hand  that  lit  my  cigarette,  I  saw,  was 
trembling.  A  desire  to  do  something  violent  woke 
in  me  suddenly — to  move  energetically,  to  push  or 
drive  something  away. 

'  What  was  it  ? '  I  asked  abruptly,  in  a  louder, 
half-challenging  voice,  intended  for  the  man  at  the 
piano.  '  Such  a  performance — upon  others — without 
first  asking  their  permission — seems  to  me  unper- 
missive— it's ' 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  315 

And  it  was  Moleson  who  replied.  He  ignored 
the  end  of  my  sentence  as  though  he  had  not  heard 
it.  He  strolled  over  to  our  side,  taking  a  cigarette 
and  pressing  it  carefully  into  shape  between  his  long 
thin  fingers. 

'  You  may  well  ask,'  he  answered  quietly  ;  '  but  it's 
not  so  easy  to  tell.  We  discovered  it ' — he  nodded 
towards  Isley — *  two  years  ago  in  the  "  Valley,," 
It  lay  beside  a  Priest,  a  very  important  personage, 
apparently,  and  was  part  of  the  Ritual  he  used  in  the 
worship  of  the  sun.  In  the  Museum  now — you  can 
see  it  any  day  at  the  Boulak — it  is  simply  labelled 
11  Hymn  to  Ra."     The  period  was  Aknahton's.' 

'  The  words,  yes,'  put  in  Isley,  who  was  listening 
closely. 

'  The  words  ? '  repeated  Moleson  in  a  curious  tone. 
1  There  are  no  words.  It's  all  really  a  manipulation 
of  the  vowel  sounds.  And  the  rhythm,  or  chanting, 
or  whatever  you  like  to  call  it,  I — I  invented  myself. 
The  Egyptians  did  not  write  their  music,  you  see.'  He 
suddenly  searched  my  face  a  moment  with  questioning 
eyes.  '  Any  words  you  heard,'  he  said,  '  or  thought 
you  heard,  were  merely  your  own  interpretation. 

I  stared  at  him,  making  no  rejoinder. 

'  They  made  use  of  what  they  called  a  "  root- 
language  '  in  their  rituals,'  he  went  on,  '  and  it 
consisted  entirely  of  vowel  sounds.  There  were  no 
consonants.  For  vowel  sounds,  you  see,  run  on  for 
ever  without  end  or  beginning,  whereas  consonants 
interrupt  their  flow  and  break  it  up  and  limit  it. 
A  consonant  has  no  sound  of  its  own  at  all.  Real 
language  is  continuous.' 

We  stood  a  moment,  smoking  in  silence.  I 
understood  then  that  this  thing  Moleson  had  done 
was  based  on  definite  knowledge.     He  had  rendered 


3i6  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

some  fragment  of  an  ancient  Ritual  he  and  Isley  - 
had  unearthed  together,  and  while  he  knew  its  effect 
upon  the  latter,  he  chanced  it  on  myself.  Not 
otherwise,  I  feel,  could  it  have  influenced  me  in  the 
extraordinary  way  it  did.  In  the  faith  and  poetry  of 
a  nation  lies  its  soul-life,  and  the  gigantic  faith  of 
Egypt  blazed  behind  the  rhythm  of  that  long, 
monotonous  chant.  There  were  blood  and  heart  and 
nerves  in  it.  Millions  had  heard  it  sung  ;  millions 
had  wept  and  prayed  and  yearned  ;  it  was  ensouled 
by  the  passion  of  that  marvellous  civilisation  that 
loved  the  godhead  of  the  Sun,  and  that  now  hid, 
waiting  but  still  alive,  below  the  ground.  The 
majestic  faith  of  ancient  Egypt  poured  up  with  it — 
that  tremendous,  burning  elaboration  of  the  after-life 
and  of  Eternity  that  was  the  pivot  of  those  spacious 
days.  For  centuries  vast  multitudes,  led  by  their 
royal  priests,  had  uttered  this  very  form  and  ritual — 
believed  it,  lived  it,  felt  it.  The  rising  of  the  sun 
remained  its  climax.  Its  spiritual  power  still  clung 
to  the  great  ruined  symbols.  The  faith  of  a  buried 
civilisation  had  burned  back  into  the  present  and 
into  our  hearts  as  well. 

And  a  curious  respect  for  the  man  who  was  able 
to  produce  this  effect  upon  two  modern  minds  crept 
over  me,  and  mingled  with  the  repulsion  that  I  felt. 
I  looked  furtively  at  his  withered,  dried-up  features. 
He  wore  some  vague  and  shadowy  impress  still  of 
what  had  just  been  in  him.  There  was  a  stony 
appearance  in  his  shrunken  cheeks.  He  looked 
smaller.  I  saw  him  lessened.  I  thought  of  him  as 
he  had  been  so  short  a  time  before,  imprisoned  in  his 
great  stone  captors  that  had  obsessed  him.   .  .  . 

'  There's  tremendous  power  in  it, — an  awful  power,' 
I  stammered,  more  to  break  the  oppressive  pause  than 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  317 

for  any  desire  in  me  to  speak  with  him.  '  It  brings 
back  Egypt  in  some  extraordinary  way — ancient 
Egypt,  I  mean — brings  it  close — into  the  heart.' 
My  words  ran  on  of  their  own  accord  almost.  I 
spoke  with  a  hush,  unwittingly.  There  was  awe  in 
me.  Isley  had  moved  away  towards  the  window, 
leaving  me  face  to  face  with  this  strange  incarnation 
of  another  age. 

'  It  must,'  he  replied,  deep  light  still  glowing  in 
his  eyes,  '  for  the  soul  of  the  old  days  is  in  it.  No 
one,  I  think,  can  hear  it  and  remain  the  same.  It 
expresses,  you  see,  the  essential  passion  and  beauty 
of  that  gorgeous  worship,  that  splendid  faith,  that 
reasonable  and  intelligent  worship  of  the  sun,  the  only 
scientific  belief  the  world  has  ever  known.  Its 
popular  form,  of  course,  was  largely  superstitious, 
but  the  sacerdotal  form — the  form  used  by  the  priests, 
that  is — who  understood  the  relationship  between 
colour,  sound  and  symbol,  was ' 

He  broke  off  suddenly,  as  though  he  had  been 
speaking  to  himself.  We  sat  down.  George  Isley 
leaned  out  of  the  window  with  his  back  to  us, 
watching  the  desert  in  the  moonless  night. 

'  You  have  tried  its  effect  before  upon — others  ? ' 
I  asked  point-blank. 

'  Upon  myself,'  he  answered  shortly. 

'  Upon  others  ? '   I  insisted. 

He  hesitated  an  instant. 

1  Upon  one  other — yes,'  he  admitted. 

'  Intentionally  ? '  And  something  quivered  in  me 
as  I  asked  it. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly.  '  I'm  merely 
a  speculative  archaeologist,'  he  smiled,  *  and — and  an 
imaginative  Egyptologist.  My  bounden  duty  is  to 
reconstruct  the  past  so  that  it  lives  for  others.' 


318         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

An  impulse  rose  in  me  to  take  him  by  the  throat. 

4  You  know  perfectly  well,  of  course,  the  magical 
effect  it's  sure — likely  at  least — to  have  ? ' 

He  stared  steadily  at  me  through  the  cigarette 
smoke.  To  this  day  I  cannot  think  exactly  what  it 
was  in  this  man  that  made  me  shudder. 

1  I'm  sure  of  nothing,'  he  replied  smoothly,  c  but 
I  consider  it  quite  legitimate  to  try.  Magical — the 
word  you  used — has  no  meaning  for  me.  If  such  a 
thing  exists,  it  is  merely  scientific — undiscovered  or 
forgotten  knowledge.'  An  insolent,  aggressive  light 
shone  in  his  eyes  as  he  spoke  ;  his  manner  was  almost 
truculent.  '  You  refer,  I  take  it,  to — our  friend — 
rather  than  to  yourself?  ' 

And  with  difficulty  I  met  his  singular  stare.  From 
his  whole  person  something  still  emanated  that  was 
forbidding,  yet  overmasteringly  persuasive.  It 
brought  back  the  notion  of  that  invisible  Web,  that 
dim  gauze  curtain,  that  motionless  Influence  lying 
waiting  at  the  centre  for  its  prey,  those  monstrous 
and  mysterious  Items  standing,  alert  and  watchful, 
through  the  centuries.  '  You  mean,'  he  added  lower, 
*  his  altered  attitude  to  life — his  going  ? ' 

To  hear  him  use  the  words,  the  very  phrase,  struck 
me  with  sudden  chill.  Before  I  could  answer, 
however,  and  certainly  before  I  could  master  the 
touch  of  horror  that  rushed  over  me,  I  heard  him 
continuing  in  a  whisper.  It  seemed  again  that  he 
spoke  to  himself  as  much  as  he  spoke  to  me. 

*  The  soul,  I  suppose,  has  the  right  to  choose  its 
own  conditions  and  surroundings.  To  pass  else- 
where involves  translation,  not  extinction.'  He 
smoked  a  moment  in  silence,  then  said  another 
curious  thing,  looking  up  into  my  face  with  an  ex- 
pression of  intense  earnestness.     Something  genuine 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  319 

in  him  again  replaced  the  pose  of  cynicism.  '  The 
soul  is  eternal  and  can  take  its  place  anywhere,  re- 
gardless of  mere  duration.  What  is  there  in  the 
vulgar  and  superficial  Present  that  should  hold  it 
so  exclusively  ;  and  where  can  it  find  to-day  the 
belief,  the  faith,  the  beauty  that  are  the  very  essence 
of  its  life — where  in  the  rush  and  scatter  of  this 
tawdry  age  can  it  make  its  home  ?  Shall  it  flutter 
for  ever  in  a  valley  of  dry  bones,  when  a  living  Past 
lies  ready  and  waiting  with  loveliness,  strength,  and 
glory  ?  '  He  moved  closer  ;  he  touched  my  arm  ; 
I  felt  his  breath  upon  my  face.  '  Come  with  us,' 
he  whispered  awfully  ;  '  come  back  with  us  !  With- 
draw your  life  from  the  rubbish  of  this  futile  ugliness  ! 
Come  back  and  worship  with  us  in  the  spirit  of  the 
Past.  Take  up  the  old,  old  splendour,  the  glory, 
the  immense  conceptions,  the  wondrous  certainty, 
the  ineffable  knowledge  of  essentials.  It  all  lies 
about  you  still ;  it's  calling,  ever  calling  ;  it's  very 
close  ;  it  draws  you  day  and  night — calling,  calling, 
calling.   .   .   .' 

His  voice  died  off  curiously  into  distance  on  the 
word  ;  I  can  hear  it  to  this  day,  and  the  soft,  dron- 
ing quality  in  the  intense  yet  fading  tone  :  '  Calling, 
calling,  calling.'  But  his  eyes  turned  wicked.  I  felt 
the  sinister  power  of  the  man.  I  was  aware  of  mad- 
ness in  his  thought  and  mind.  The  Past  he  sought 
to  glorify  I  saw  black,  as  with  the  forbidding  Egyptian 
darkness  of  a  plague.  It  was  not  beauty  but  Death 
that  I  heard  calling,  calling,  calling. 

'  It's  real,'  he  went  on,  hardly  aware  that  I  shrank, 
1  and  not  a  dream.  These  ruined  symbols  still 
remain  in  touch  with  that  which  was.  They  are 
potent  to-day  as  they  were  six  thousand  years  ago. 
The  amazing  life  of  those  days  brims  behind  them. 


32o         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

They  are  not  mere  masses  of  oppressive  stone  ;  they 
express  in  visible  form  great  powers  that  still  are — 
knowable!  He  lowered  his  head,  peered  up  into  my 
face,  and  whispered.  Something  secret  passed  into 
his  eyes. 

1 1  saw  you  change,'  came  the  words  below  his 
breath,  'as  you  saw  the  change  in  us.  But  only 
worship  can  produce  that  change.  The  soul  assumes 
the  qualities  of  the  deity  it  worships.  The  powers 
of  its  deity  possess  it  and  transform  it  into  its  own 
likeness.  You  also  felt  it.  You  also  were  possessed. 
I  saw  the  stone-faced  deity  upon  your  own.' 

I  seemed  to  shake  myself  as  a  dog  shakes  water 
from  its  body.  I  stood  up.  I  remember  that  I 
stretched  my  hands  out  as  though  to  push  him  from 
me  and  expel  some  creeping  influence  from  my  mind. 
I  remember  another  thing  as  well.  But  for  the 
reality  of  the  sequel,  and  but  for  the  matter-of-fact 
result  still  facing  me  to-day  in  the  disappearance  of 
George  Isley — the  loss  to  the  present  time  of  all 
George  Isley  was — I  might  have  found  subject  for 
laughter  in  what  I  saw.  Comedy  was  in  it  certainly. 
Yet  it  was  both  ghastly  and  terrific.  Deep  horror 
crept  below  the  aspect  of  the  ludicrous,  for  the 
apparent  mimicry  cloaked  truth.  It  was  appalling 
because  it  was  real. 

In  the  large  mirror  that  reflected  the  room  behind 
me  I  saw  myself  and  Moleson  ;  I  saw  Isley  too  in 
the  background  by  the  open  window.  And  the 
attitude  of  all  three  was  the  attitude  of  hieroglyphics 
come  to  life.  My  arms  indeed  were  stretched,  but 
not  stretched,  as  I  had  thought,  in  mere  self-defence. 
They  were  stretched — unnaturally.  The  forearms 
made  those  strange  obtuse  angles  that  the  old 
carved  granite  wears,  the  palms  of  the  hands  held 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  321 

upwards,  the  heads  thrown  back,  the  legs  advanced, 
the  bodies  stiffened  into  postures  that  expressed  for- 
gotten, ancient  minds.  The  physical  conformation 
of  all  three  was  monstrous  ;  and  yet  reverence  and 
truth  dictated  even  the  uncouthness  of  the  gestures. 
Something  in  all  three  of  us  inspired  the  forms  our 
bodies  had  assumed.  Our  attitudes  expressed  buried 
yearnings,  emotions,  tendencies — whatever  they  may 
be  termed — that  the  spirit  of  the  Past  evoked. 

I  saw  the  reflected  picture  but  for  a  moment.  I 
dropped  my  arms,  aware  of  foolishness  in  my  way 
of  standing.  Moleson  moved  forward  with  his  long, 
significant  stride,  and  at  the  same  instant  Isley  came 
up  quickly  and  joined  us  from  his  place  by  the  open 
window.  We  looked  into  each  other's  faces  without 
a  word.  There  was  this  little  pause  that  lasted  per- 
haps ten  seconds.  But  in  that  pause  I  felt  the  entire 
world  slide  past  me.  I  heard  the  centuries  rush  by  at 
headlong  speed.  The  present  dipped  away.  Exist- 
ence was  no  longer  in  a  line  that  stretched  two  ways  ; 
it  was  a  circle  in  which  ourselves,  together  with  Past 
and  Future,  stood  motionless  at  the  centre,  all  details 
equally  accessible  at  once.  The  three  of  us  were 
falling,  falling  backwards.  .   .   . 

'  Come  ! '  said  the  voice  of  Moleson  solemnly,  but 
with  the  sweetness  as  of  a  child  anticipating  joy. 
'  Come  !  Let  us  go  together,  for  the  boat  of  Ra 
has  crossed  the  Underworld.  The  darkness  has 
been  conquered.  Let  us  go  out  together  and  find 
the  dawn.     Listen  !  It  is  calling,  calling,  calling.  .  .  .' 

XIII 

I  was  aware  of  rushing,  but  it  was  the  soul  in 
me  that  rushed.      It  experienced  dizzy,  unutterable 

Y 


322         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

alterations.  Thousands  of  emotions,  intense  and 
varied,  poured  through  me  at  lightning  speed,  each 
satisfyingly  known,  yet  gone  before  its  name  ap- 
peared. The  life  of  many  centuries  tore  headlong 
back  with  me,  and,  as  in  drowning,  this  epitome  of 
existence  shot  in  a  few  seconds  the  steep  slopes 
the  Past  had  so  laboriously  built  up.  The  changes 
flashed  and  passed.  I  wept  and  prayed  and  wor- 
shipped ;  I  loved  and  suffered  ;  I  battled,  lost  and 
won.  Down  the  gigantic  scale  of  ages  that  tele- 
scoped thus  into  a  few  brief  moments,  the  soul  in 
me  went  sliding  backwards  towards  a  motionless, 
reposeful  Past. 

I  remember  foolish  details  that  interrupted 
the  immense  descent — I  put  on  coat  and  hat ;  I 
remember  some  one's  words,  strangely  sounding  as 
when  some  bird  wakes  up  and  sings  at  midnight — 
'  We'll  take  the  little  door  ;  the  front  one's  locked  by 
now '  ;  and  I  have  a  vague  recollection  of  the  out- 
line of  the  great  hotel,  with  its  colonnades  and 
terraces,  fading  behind  me  through  the  air.  But 
these  details  merely  flickered  and  disappeared,  as 
though  I  fell  earthwards  from  a  star  and  passed 
feathers  or  blown  leaves  upon  the  way.  There  was 
no  friction  as  my  soul  dropped  backwards  into  time  ; 
the  flight  was  easy  and  silent  as  a  dream.  I  felt  my- 
self sucked  down  into  gulfs  whose  emptiness  offered 
no  resistance  .  .  .  until  at  last  the  appalling  speed 
decreased  of  its  own  accord,  and  the  dizzy  flight 
became  a  kind  of  gentle  floating.  It  changed  im- 
perceptibly into  a  gliding  motion,  as  though  the 
angle  altered.  My  feet,  quite  naturally,  were  on 
the  ground,  moving  through  something  soft  that 
clung  to  them  and  rustled  while  it  clung. 

I  looked  up  and  saw  the  bright  armies  of  the  stars. 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  323 

In  front  of  me  I  recognised  the  flat-topped,  shadowy 
ridges  ;  on  both  sides  lay  the  open  expanses  of 
familiar  wilderness  ;  and  beside  me,  one  on  either 
hand,  moved  two  figures  who  were  my  companions. 
We  were  in  the  desert,  but  it  was  the  desert  of 
thousands  of  years  ago.  My  companions,  moreover, 
though  familiar  to  some  part  of  me,  seemed  strangers 
or  half  known.  Their  names  I  strove  in  vain  to 
capture  ;  Mosely,  Ilson,  sounded  in  my  head,  mingled 
together  falsely.  And  when  I  stole  a  glance  at  them, 
I  saw  dark  lines  of  mannikins  unfilled  with  substance, 
and  was  aware  of  the  grotesque  gestures  of  living 
hieroglyphics.  It  seemed  for  an  instant  that  their 
arms  were  bound  behind  their  backs  impossibly,  and 
that  their  heads  turned  sharply  across  their  lineal 
shoulders. 

But  for  a  moment  only  ;  for  at  a  second  glance  I 
saw  them  solid  and  compact  ;  their  names  came  back 
to  me  ;  our  arms  were  linked  together  as  we  walked. 
We  had  already  covered  a  great  distance,  for  my 
limbs  were  aching  and  my  breath  was  short.  The  air 
was  cold,  the  silence  absolute.  It  seemed,  in  this  faint 
light,  that  the  desert  flowed  beneath  our  feet,  rather 
than  that  we  advanced  by  taking  steps.  Cliffs  with 
hooded  tops  moved  past  us,  boulders  glided,  mounds 
of  sand  slid  by.  And  then  I  heard  a  voice  upon  my 
left  that  was  surely  Moleson  speaking  : 

'  Towards  Enet  our  feet  are  set,'  he  half  sang, 
half  murmured,  '  towards  Enet-te-ntore.  There,  in 
the  House  of  Birth,  we  shall  dedicate  our  hearts  and 
lives  anew.' 

And  the  language,  no  less  than  the  musical  intona- 
tion of  his  voice,  enraptured  me.  For  I  understood 
he  spoke  of  Denderah,  in  whose  majestic  temple 
recent  hands  had  painted  with  deathless  colours  the 


324         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

symbols  of  our  cosmic  relationships  with  the  zodiacal 
signs.  And  Denderah  was  our  great  seat  of  worship 
of  the  goddess  Hathor,  the  Egyptian  Aphrodite, 
bringer  of  love  and  joy.  The  falcon-headed  Horus 
was  her  husband,  from  whom,  in  his  home  at  Edfu, 
we  imbibed  swift  kinds  of  power.  And — it  was  the 
time  of  the  New  Year,  the  great  feast  when  the 
forces  of  the  living  earth  turn  upwards  into  happy 
growth. 

We  were  on  foot  across  the  desert  towards 
Denderah,  and  this  sand  we  trod  was  the  sand  of 
thousands  of  years  ago. 

The  paralysis  of  time  and  distance  involved  some 
amazing  lightness  of  the  spirit  that,  I  suppose,  touched 
ecstasy.  There  was  intoxication  in  the  soul.  I  was 
not  divided  from  the  stars,  nor  separate  from  this 
desert  that  rushed  with  us.  The  unhampered  wind 
blew  freshly  from  my  nerves  and  skin,  and  the  Nile, 
glimmering  faintly  on  our  right,  lay  with  its  lapping 
waves  in  both  my  hands.  I  knew  the  life  of  Egypt, 
for  it  was  in  me,  over  me,  round  me.  I  was  a  part 
of  it.  We  went  happily,  like  birds  to  meet  the  sun- 
rise. There  were  no  pits  of  measured  time  and 
interval  that  could  detain  us.  We  flowed,  yet  were 
at  rest  ;  we  were  endlessly  alive  ;  present  and  future 
alike  were  inconceivable  ;  we  were  in  the  Kingdom 
of  the  Past. 

The  Pyramids  were  just  a-building,  and  the  army 
of  Obelisks  looked  about  them,  proud  of  their  first 
balance  ;  Thebes  swung  her  hundred  gates  upon  the 
world.  New,  shining  Memphis  glittered  with  myriad 
reflections  into  waters  that  the  tears  of  Isis  sweetened, 
and  the  cliffs  of  Abou  Simbel  were  still  innocent  of 
their  gigantic  progeny.  Alone,  the  Sphinx,  linking 
timelessness  with  time,  brooded  unguessed  and  un- 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  325 

derived  upon  an  alien  world.     We  marched  within 
antiquity  towards  Denderah.   .   .   . 

How  long  we  marched,  how  fast,  how  far  we  went, 
I  can  remember  as  little  as  the  marvellous  speech 
that  passed  across  me  while  my  two  companions 
spoke  together.  I  only  remember  that  suddenly  a 
wave  of  pain  disturbed  my  wondrous  happiness  and 
caused  my  calm,  which  had  seemed  beyond  all  reach 
of  break,  to  fall  away.  I  heard  their  voices  abruptly 
with  a  kind  of  terror.  A  sensation  of  fear,  of  loss, 
of  nightmare  bewilderment  came  over  me  like  cold 
wind.  What  they  lived  naturally,  true  to  their 
inmost  hearts,  /  lived  merely  by  means  of  a  tempera- 
mental sympathy.  And  the  stage  had  come  at  which 
my  powers  failed.  Exhaustion  overtook  me.  I 
wilted.  The  strain — the  abnormal  backwards  stretch 
of  consciousness  that  was  put  upon  me  by  another — 
gave  way  and  broke.  I  heard  their  voices  faint  and 
horrible.  My  joy  was  extinguished.  A  glare  of 
horror  fell  upon  the  desert  and  the  stars  seemed  evil. 
An  anguishing  desire  for  the  safe  and  wholesome 
Present  usurped  all  this  mad  yearning  to  obtain  the 
Past.  My  feet  fell  out  of  step.  The  rushing  of  the 
desert  paused.  I  unlinked  my  arms.  We  stopped 
all  three. 

The  actual  spot  is  to  this  day  well  known  to  me. 
I  found  it  afterwards,  I  even  photographed  it.  It 
lies  actually  not  far  from  Helouan — a  few  miles  at 
most  beyond  the  Solitary  Palm,  where  slopes  of 
undulating  sand  mark  the  opening  of  a  strange, 
enticing  valley  called  the  Wadi  Gerraui.  And  it  is 
enticing  because  it  beckons  and  leads  on.  Here, 
amid  torn  gorges  of  a  limestone  wilderness,  there  is 
suddenly  soft  yellow  sand  that  flows  and  draws  the 
feet  onward.     It   slips  away    with    one    too    easily  ; 


326  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

always  the  next  ridge  and  basin  must  be  seen,  each 
time  a  little  farther.  It  has  the  quality  of  decoying. 
The  cliffs  say,  No  ;  but  this  streaming  sand  invites. 
In  its  flowing  curves  of  gold  there  is  enchantment. 

And  it  was  here  upon  its  very  lips  we  stopped, 
the  rhythm  of  our  steps  broken,  our  hearts  no  longer 
one.  My  temporary  rapture  vanished.  I  was  aware 
of  fear.  For  the  Present  rushed  upon  me  with  attack 
in  it,  and  I  felt  that  my  mind  was  arrested  close  upon 
the  edge  of  madness.  Something  cleared  and  lifted 
in  my  brain. 

The  soul,  indeed,  could  '  choose  its  dwelling- 
place  ' ;  but  to  live  elsewhere  completely  was  the  choice 
of  madness,  and  to  live  divorced  from  all  the  sweet 
wholesome  business  of  To-day  involved  an  exile 
that  was  worse  than  madness.  It  was  death.  My 
heart  burned  for  George  Isley.  I  remembered  the 
tear  upon  his  cheek.  The  agony  of  his  struggle  I 
shared  suddenly  with  him.  Yet  with  him  was  the 
reality,  with  me  a  sympathetic  reflection  merely.  He 
was  already  too  far  gone  to  fight.  .   .   . 

I  shall  never  forget  the  desolation  of  that  strange 
scene  beneath  the  morning  stars.  The  desert  lay 
down  and  watched  us.  We  stood  upon  the  brink 
of  a  little  broken  ridge,  looking  into  the  valley  of 
golden  sand.  This  sand  gleamed  soft  and  wonderful 
in  the  starlight  some  twenty  feet  below.  The  descent 
was  easy — but  I  would  not  move.  I  refused  to 
advance  another  step.  I  saw  my  companions  in  the 
mysterious  half-light  beside  me  peering  over  the  edge, 
Moleson  in  front  a  little. 

And  I  turned  to  him,  sure  of  the  part  I  meant  to 
play,  yet  conscious  painfully  of  my  helplessness.  My 
personality  seemed  a  straw  in  mid-stream  that  spun  in 
a  futile  effort  to  arrest  the  flood  that  bore  it.     There 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  327 

was  vivid  human  conflict  in  the  moment's  silence. 
It  was  an  eddy  that  paused  in  the  great  body  of  the 
tide.  And  then  I  spoke.  Oh,  I  was  ashamed  of  the 
insignificance  of  my  voice  and  the  weakness  of  my 
little  personality. 

'  Moleson,  we  go  no  farther  with  you.  We  have 
already  come  too  far.     We  now  turn  back.' 

Behind  my  words  were  a  paltry  thirty  years.  His 
answer  drove  sixty  centuries  against  me.  For  his 
voice  was  like  the  wind  that  passed  whispering  down 
the  stream  of  yellow  sand  below  us.     He  smiled. 

'  Our  feet  are  set  towards  Enet-te-ntOre.  There 
is  no  turning  back.  Listen  !  It  is  calling,  calling, 
calling  !  ' 

'  We  will  go  home,'  I  cried,  in  a  tone  I  vainly 
strove  to  make  imperative. 

'  Our  home  is  there,'  he  sang,  pointing  with  one 
long  thin  arm  towards  the  brightening  east,  '  for  the 
Temple  calls  us  and  the  River  takes  our  feet.  We 
shall  be  in  the  House  of  Birth  to  meet  the  sunrise ' 

'  You  lie,'  I  cried  again,  '  you  speak  the  lies  of 
madness,  and  this  Past  you  seek  is  the  House  of 
Death.     It  is  the  kingdom  of  the  underworld.' 

The  words  tore  wildly,  impotently  out  of  me.  I 
seized  George  Isley's  arm. 

1  Come  back  with  me,'  I  pleaded  vehemently, 
my  heart  aching  with  a  nameless  pain  for  him. 
'  We'll  retrace  our  steps.  Come  home  with  me  ! 
Come  back !  Listen !  The  Present  calls  you 
sweetly  ! ' 

His  arm  slipped  horribly  out  of  my  grasp  that 
had  seemed  to  hold  it  so  tightly.  Moleson,  already 
below  us  in  the  yellow  sand,  looked  small  with 
distance.  He  was  gliding  rapidly  farther  with  un- 
canny swiftness.     The  diminution  of  his  form  was 


328  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

ghastly.  It  was  like  a  doll's.  And  his  voice  rose 
up,  faint  as  with  the  distance  of  great  gulfs  of  space. 

'  Calling  .  .  .  calling.  .  .  .  You  hear  it  for  ever 
calling  .   .   .' 

It  died  away  with  the  wind  along  that  sandy 
valley,  and  the  Past  swept  in  a  flood  across  the 
brightening  sky.  I  swayed  as  though  a  storm  was 
at  my  back.  I  reeled.  Almost  I  went  too — over 
the  crumbling  edge  into  the  sand. 

'  Come  back  with  me  !  Come  home  ! '  I  cried 
more  faintly.  '  The  Present  alone  is  real.  There 
is  work,  ambition,  duty.  There  is  beauty  too — the 
beauty  of  good  living  !  And  there  is  love  !  There 
is — a  woman  .  .   .  calling,  calling  .   .   .  ! ' 

That  other  voice  took  up  the  word  below  me.  I 
heard  the  faint  refrain  sing  down  the  sandy  walls. 
The  wild,  sweet  pang  in  it  was  marvellous. 

'  Our  feet  are  set  for  Enet-te-ntore.  It  is  calling, 
calling  .  .   .  ! ' 

My  voice  fell  into  nothingness.  George  Isley 
was  below  me  now,  his  outline  tiny  against  the  sheet 
of  yellow  sand.  And  the  sand  was  moving.  The 
desert  rushed  again.  The  human  figures  receded 
swiftly  into  the  Past  they  had  reconstructed  with 
the  creative  yearning  of  their  souls. 

I  stood  alone  upon  the  edge  of  crumbling  lime- 
stone, helplessly  watching  them.  It  was  amazing 
what  I  witnessed,  while  the  shafts  of  crimson  dawn 
rose  up  the  sky.  The  enormous  desert  turned  alive 
to  the  horizon  with  gold  and  blue  and  silver.  The 
purple  shadows  melted  into  grey.  The  flat-topped 
ridges  shone.  Huge  messengers  of  light  flashed 
everywhere  at  once.  The  radiance  of  sunrise  dazzled 
my  outer  sight. 

But  if  my  eyes  were  blinded,  my  inner  sight  was 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  329 

focused  the  more  clearly  upon  what  followed.  I 
witnessed  the  disappearance  of  George  Isley.  There 
was  a  dreadful  magic  in  the  picture.  The  pair  of 
them,  small  and  distant  below  me  in  that  little  sandy 
hollow,  stood  out  sharply  defined  as  in  a  miniature. 
I  saw  their  outlines  neat  and  terrible  like  some 
ghastly  inset  against  the  enormous  scenery.  Though 
so  close  to  me  in  actual  space,  they  were  centuries 
away  in  time.  And  a  dim,  vast  shadow  was  about 
them  that  was  not  mere  shadow  of  the  ridges.  It 
encompassed  them  ;  it  moved,  crawling  over  the 
sand,  obliterating  them.  Within  it,  like  insects  lost 
in  amber,  they  became  visibly  imprisoned,  dwindled 
in  size,  borne  deep  away,  absorbed. 

And  then  I  recognised  the  outline.  Once  more, 
but  this  time  recumbent  and  spread  flat  upon  the 
desert's  face,  I  knew  the  monstrous  shapes  of  the 
twin  obsessing  symbols.  The  spirit  of  ancient 
Egypt  lay  over  all  the  land,  tremendous  in  the 
dawn.  The  sunrise  summoned  her.  She  lay  pros- 
trate before  the  deity.  The  shadows  of  the  towering 
Colossi  lay  prostrate  too.  The  little  humans,  with 
their  worshipping  and  conquered  hearts,  lay  deep 
within  them. 

George  Isley  I  saw  clearest.  The  distinctness, 
the  reality  were  appalling.  He  was  naked,  robbed, 
undressed.  I  saw  him  a  skeleton,  picked  clean  to 
the  very  bones  as  by  an  acid.  His  life  lay  hid  in 
the  being  of  that  mighty  Past.  Egypt  had  absorbed 
him.     He  was  gone.  .  .  . 

I  closed  my  eyes,  but  I  could  not  keep  them 
closed.  They  opened  of  their  own  accord.  The 
three  of  us  were  nearing  the  great  hotel  that  rose 
yellow,  with  shuttered  windows,  in  the  early  sunshine. 


330         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

A  wind  blew  briskly  from  the  north  across  the 
Mokattam  Hills.  There  were  soft  cannon  -  ball 
clouds  dotted  about  the  sky,  and  across  the  Nile, 
where  the  mist  lay  in  a  line  of  white,  I  saw  the  tops 
of  the  Pyramids  gleaming  like  mountain  peaks  of 
gold.  A  string  of  camels,  laden  with  white  stone, 
went  past  us.  I  heard  the  crying  of  the  natives 
in  the  streets  of  Helouan,  and  as  we  went  up  the 
steps  the  donkeys  arrived  and  camped  in  the  sandy 
road  beside  their  bersim  till  the  tourists  claimed 
them. 

*  Good  morning,'  cried  Abdullah,  the  man  who 
owned  them.  '  You  all  go  Sakkhara  to-day,  or 
Memphis  ?  Beat'ful  day  to-day,  and  vair  good 
donkeys ! ' 

Moleson  went  up  to  his  room  without  a  word, 
and  Isley  did  the  same.  I  thought  he  staggered  a 
moment  as  he  turned  the  passage  corner  from  my 
sight.  His  face  wore  a  look  of  vacancy  that  some 
call  peace.  There  was  radiance  in  it.  It  made  me 
shudder.  Aching  in  mind  and  body,  and  no  word 
spoken,  I  followed  their  example.  I  went  up- 
stairs to  bed,  and  slept  a  dreamless  sleep  till  after 
sunset.   .   .   . 


XIV 

And  I  woke  with  a  lost,  unhappy  feeling  that  a 
withdrawing  tide  had  left  me  on  the  shore,  alone 
and  desolate.  My  first  instinct  was  for  my  friend, 
George  Isley.  And  I  noticed  a  square,  white  envelope 
with  my  name  upon  it  in  his  writing. 

Before  I  opened  it  I  knew  quite  well  what  words 
would  be  inside  : 

'  We  are  going  up  to  Thebes,'  the  note  informed 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  331 

me  simply.     '  We  leave  by  the  night  train.     If  you 

care  to '  But  the  last  four  words  were  scratched 

out  again,  though  not  so  thickly  that  I  could  not 
read  them.  Then  came  the  address  of  the  Egyptolo- 
gist's house  and  the  signature,  very  firmly  traced, 
'  Yours  ever,  George  Isley.'  I  glanced  at  my 
watch  and  saw  that  it  was  after  seven  o'clock.  The 
night  train  left  at  half-past  six.  They  had  already 
started.   .   .  . 

The  pain  of  feeling  forsaken,  left  behind,  was 
deep  and  bitter,  for  myself ;  but  what  I  felt  for  him, 
old  friend  and  comrade,  was  even  more  intense,  since 
it  was  hopeless.  Fear  and  conventional  emotion  had 
stopped  me  at  the  very  gates  of  an  amazing  possibility 
— some  state  of  consciousness  that,  realising  the  Past, 
might  doff  the  Present,  and  by  slipping  out  of  Time, 
experience  Eternity.  That  was  the  seduction  I  had 
escaped  by  the  uninspired  resistance  of  my  pettier 
soul.  Yet,  he,  my  friend,  yielding  in  order  to 
conquer,  had  obtained  an  awful  prize — ah,  I  under- 
stood the  picture's  other  side  as  well,  with  an  un- 
utterable poignancy  of  pity — the  prize  of  immobility 
which  is  sheer  stagnation,  the  imagined  bliss  which 
is  a  false  escape,  the  dream  of  finding  beauty  away 
from  present  things.  From  that  dream  the  awaken- 
ing must  be  rude  indeed.  Clutching  at  vanished 
stars,  he  had  clutched  the  oldest  illusion  in  the  world. 
To  me  it  seemed  the  negation  of  life  that  had  be- 
trayed him.     The  pity  of  it  burned  me  like  a  flame. 

But  I  did  not  « care  to  follow '  him  and  his 
companion.  I  waited  at  Helouan  for  his  return, 
filling  the  empty  days  with  yet  emptier  explanations. 
I  felt  as  a  man  who  sees  what  he  loves  sinking  down 
into  clear,  deep  water,  still  within  visible  reach,  yet 
gone   beyond   recovery.      Moleson    had    taken   him 


332  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

back  to  Thebes  ;  and  Egypt,  monstrous  effigy  of  the 
Past,  had  caught  her  prey. 

The  rest,  moreover,  is  easily  told.  Moleson  I 
never  saw  again.  To  this  day  I  have  never  seen 
him,  though  his  subsequent  books  are  known  to  me, 
with  the  banal  fact  that  he  is  numbered  with  those 
energetic  and  deluded  enthusiasts  who  start  a  new 
religion,  obtain  notoriety,  a  few  hysterical  followers 
and — oblivion. 

George  Isley,  however,  returned  to  Helouan  after 
a  fortnight's  absence.  I  saw  him,  knew  him,  talked 
and  had  my  meals  with  him.  We  even  did  slight 
expeditions  together.  He  was  gentle  and  delightful 
as  a  woman  who  has  loved  a  wonderful  ideal  and 
attained  to  it — in  memory.  All  roughness  was 
gone  out  of  him  ;  he  was  smooth  and  polished  as 
a  crystal  surface  that  reflects  whatever  is  near  enough 
to  ask  a  picture.  Yet  his  appearance  shocked  me 
inexpressibly  :  there  was  nothing  in  him — nothing. 
It  was  the  representation  of  George  Isley  that  came 
back  from  Thebes  ;  the  outer  simulacra  ;  the  shell 
that  walks  the  London  streets  to-day.  I  met  no 
vestige  of  the  man  I  used  to  know.  George  Isley 
had  disappeared. 

With  this  marvellous  automaton  I  lived  another 
month.  The  horror  of  him  kept  me  company  in 
the  hotel  where  he  moved  among  the  cosmopolitan 
humanity  as  a  ghost  that  visits  the  sunlight  yet  has 
its  home  elsewhere. 

This  empty  image  of  George  Isley  lived  with  me 
in  our  Helouan  hotel  until  the  winds  of  early  March 
informed  his  physical  frame  that  discomfort  was  in 
the  air,  and  that  he  might  as  well  move  elsewhere — 
elsewhere  happening  to  be  northwards. 

And  he  left  just   as    he  stayed — automatically. 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  333 

His  brain  obeyed  the  conventional  stimuli  to  which 
his  nerves,  and  consequently  his  muscles,  were 
accustomed.  It  sounds  so  foolish.  But  he  took 
his  ticket  automatically  ;  he  gave  the  natural  and 
adequate  reasons  automatically  ;  he  chose  his  ship 
and  landing-place  in  the  same  way  that  ordinary 
people  chose  these  things  ;  he  said  good-bye  like 
any  other  man  who  leaves  casual  acquaintances  and 
1  hopes '  to  meet  them  again  ;  he  lived,  that  is  to  say, 
entirely  in  his  brain.  His  heart,  his  emotions,  his 
temperament  and  personality,  that  nameless  sum- 
total  for  which  the  great  sympathetic  nervous  system 
is  accountable — all  this,  his  soul,  had  gone  elsewhere. 
This  once  vigorous,  gifted  being  had  become  a 
normal,  comfortable  man  that  everybody  could 
understand  —  a  commonplace  nonentity.  He  was 
precisely  what  the  majority  expected  him  to  be — 
ordinary  ;  a  good  fellow  ;  a  man  of  the  world  ;  he 
was  '  delightful.'  He  merely  reflected  daily  life  with- 
out partaking  of  it.  To  the  majority  it  was  hardly 
noticeable  ;  '  very  pleasant '  was  a  general  verdict. 
His  ambition,  his  restlessness,  his  zeal  had  gone  ; 
that  tireless  zest  whose  driving  power  is  yearning 
had  taken  flight,  leaving  behind  it  physical  energy 
without  spiritual  desire.  His  soul  had  found  its 
nest  and  flown  to  it.  He  lived  in  the  chimera  of 
the  Past,  serene,  indifferent,  detached.  I  saw  him 
immense,  a  shadowy,  majestic  figure,  standing — ah, 
not  moving  ! — in  a  repose  that  was  satisfying  because 
it  could  not  change.  The  size,  the  mystery,  the  im- 
mobility that  caged  him  in  seemed  to  me — terrible. 
For  I  dared  not  intrude  upon  his  awful  privacy,  and 
intimacy  between  us  there  was  none.  Of  his  experi- 
ences at  Thebes  I  asked  no  single  question — it  was 
somehow   not   possible    or   legitimate  ;    he,   equally, 


334         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

vouchsafed  no  word  of  explanation — it  was  uncom- 
municable  to  a  dweller  in  the  Present.  Between  us 
was  this  barrier  we  both  respected.  He  peered  at 
modern  life,  incurious,  listless,  apathetic,  through  a 
dim,  gauze  curtain.     He  was  behind  it. 

People  round  us  were  going  to  Sakkhara  and  the 
Pyramids,  to  see  the  Sphinx  by  moonlight,  to  dream 
at  Edfu  and  at  Denderah.  Others  described  their 
journeys  to  Assouan,  Khartoum  and  Abou  Simbel, 
and  gave  details  of  their  encampments  in  the  desert. 
Wind,  wind,  wind !  The  winds  of  Egypt  blew  and 
sang  and  sighed.  From  the  White  Nile  came  the 
travellers,  and  from  the  Blue  Nile,  from  the  Fayum, 
and  from  nameless  excavations  without  end.  They 
talked  and  wrote  their  books.  They  had  the  magpie 
knowledge  of  the  present.  The  Egyptologists,  big 
and  little,  read  the  writing  on  the  wall  and  put  the 
hieroglyphs  and  papyri  into  modern  language.  Alone 
George  Isley  knew  the  secret.     He  lived  it. 

And  the  high  passionate  calm,  the  lofty  beauty, 
the  glamour  and  enchantment  that  are  the  spell  of 
this  thrice-haunted  land,  were  in  my  soul  as  well — 
sufficiently  for  me  to  interpret  his  condition.  I  could 
not  leave,  yet  having  left  I  could  not  stay  away. 
I  yearned  for  the  Egypt  that  he  knew.  No  word 
I  uttered  ;  speech  could  not  approach  it.  We 
wandered  by  the  Nile  together,  and  through  the 
groves  of  palms  that  once  were  Memphis.  The 
sandy  wastes  beyond  the  Pyramids  knew  our  foot- 
steps ;  the  Mokattam  Ridges,  purple  at  evening 
and  golden  in  the  dawn,  held  our  passing  shadows 
as  we  silently  went  by.  At  no  single  dawn  or  sunset 
was  he  to  be  found  indoors,  and  it  became  my  habit 
to  accompany  him — the  joy  of  worship  in  his  soul 
was    marvellous.     The    great,  still    skies   of  Egypt 


A  DESCENT  INTO  EGYPT  32  5 

watched  us,  the  hanging  stars,  the  gigantic  dome 
of  blue ;  we  felt  together  that  burning  southern 
wind  ;  the  golden  sweetness  of  the  sun  lay  in  our 
blood  as  we  saw  the  great  boats  take  the  northern 
breeze  upstream.  Immensity  was  everywhere  and 
this  golden  magic  of  the  sun.   .   .  . 

But  it  was  in  the  Desert  especially,  where  only 
sun  and  wind  observe  the  faint  signalling  of  Time, 
where  space  is  nothing  because  it  is  not  divided,  and 
where  no  detail  reminds  the  heart  that  the  world  is 
called  To-Day — it  was  in  the  desert  this  curtain 
hung  most  visibly  between  us,  he  on  that  side,  I  on 
this.  It  was  transparent.  He  was  with  a  multitude 
no  man  can  number.  Towering  to  the  moon,  yet 
spreading  backwards  towards  his  burning  source  of 
life,  drawn  out  by  the  sun  and  by  the  crystal  air  into 
some  vast  interior  magnitude,  the  spirit  of  George 
Isley  hung  beside  me,  close  yet  far  away,  in  the  haze 
of  olden  days. 

And,  sometimes,  he  moved.  I  was  aware  of 
gestures.  His  head  was  raised  to  listen.  One  arm 
swung  shadowy  across  the  sea  of  broken  ridges, 
From  leagues  away  a  line  of  sand  rose  slowly. 
There  was  a  rustling.  Another — an  enormous — 
arm  emerged  to  meet  his  own,  and  two  stupendous 
figures  drew  together.  Poised  above  Time,  yet 
throned  upon  the  centuries,  They  knew  eternity. 
So  easily  they  remained  possessors  of  the  land. 
Facing  the  east,  they  waited  for  the  dawn.  And 
their  marvellously  forgotten  singing  poured  across 
the  world.   .   .  . 


WAYFARERS 


337 


WAYFARERS 

I  missed  the  train  at  Evian,  and,  after  infinite  trouble, 
discovered  a  motor  that  would  take  me,  ice-axe  and 
all,  to  Geneva.  By  hurrying,  the  connection  might 
be  just  possible.  I  telegraphed  to  Haddon  to  meet 
me  at  the  station,  and  lay  back  comfortably,  dreaming 
of  the  precipices  of  Haute  Savoie.  We  made  good 
time  ;  the  roads  were  excellent,  traffic  of  the  slightest, 
when — crash  !  There  was  an  instant's  excruciating 
pain,  the  sun  went  out  like  a  snuffed  candle,  and  I 
fell  into  something  as  soft  as  a  bed  of  flowers  and  as 
yielding  to  my  weight  as  warm  water.   .  .   . 

It  was  very  warm.  There  was  a  perfume  of 
flowers.  My  eyes  opened,  focused  vividly  upon  a 
detailed  picture  for  a  moment,  then  closed  again. 
There  was  no  context — at  least,  none  that  I  could 
recall  —  for  the  scene,  though  familiar  as  home, 
brought  nothing  that  I  definitely  remembered. 
Broken  away  from  any  sequence,  unattached  to  any 
past,  unaware  even  of  my  own  identity,  I  simply  saw 
this  picture  as  a  camera  snaps  it  off  from  the  world, 
a  scene  apart,  with  meaning  only  for  those  who  knew 
the  context  : 

The  warm,  soft  thing  I  lay  in  was  a  bed — big, 
deep,  comfortable  ;  and  the  perfume  came  from 
flowers  that  stood  beside  it  on  a  little  table.  It  was 
in  a  stately,  ancient  chamber,  with  lofty  ceiling  and 

339 


34o         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

immense  open  fireplace  of  stone  ;  old  -  fashioned 
pictures — familiar  portraits  and  engravings  I  knew 
intimately — hung  upon  the  walls  ;  the  floor  was 
bare,  with  dignified,  carved  furniture  of  oak  and 
mahogany,  huge  chairs  and  massive  cupboards.  And 
there  were  latticed  windows  set  within  deep  em- 
brasures of  grey  stone,  where  clambering  roses 
patterned  the  sunshine  that  cast  their  moving  shadows 
on  the  polished  boards.  With  the  perfume  of  the 
flowers  there  mingled,  too,  that  delicate,  elusive  odour 
of  age — of  wood,  of  musty  tapestries  in  spacious 
halls  and  corridors,  and  of  chambers  long  unopened 
to  the  sun  and  air. 

By  the  door  that  stood  ajar  far  away  at  the  end 
of  the  room — very  far  away  it  seemed — an  old 
lady,  wearing  a  little  cap  of  silk  embroidery,  was 
whispering  to  a  man  of  stern,  uncompromising  figure, 
who,  as  he  listened,  bent  down  to  her  with  a  grave 
and  even  solemn  face.  A  wide  stone  corridor  was 
just  visible  through  the  crack  of  the  open  door 
behind  her. 

The  picture  flashed,  and  vanished.  The  numerous 
details  I  took  in  because  they  were  well  known  to  me 
already.  That  I  could  not  supply  the  context  was 
merely  a  trick  of  the  mind,  the  kind  of  trick  that 
dreams  play.  Darkness  swamped  vision  again.  I 
sank  back  into  the  warm,  soft,  comfortable  bed  of 
delicious  oblivion.  There  was  not  the  slightest 
desire  to  know  ;  sleep  and  soft  forgetfulness  were  all 
I  craved. 

But  a  little  later — or  was  it  a  very  great  deal  later? — 
when  I  opened  my  eyes  again,  there  was  a  thin  trail 
of  memory.  I  remembered  my  name  and  age.  I 
remembered  vaguely,  as  though  from  some  unpleasant 
dream,  that   I   was   on   the  way  to  meet  a  climbing 


WAYFARERS 


34i 


friend  in  the  Alps  of  Haute  Savoie,  and  that  there 
was  need  to  hurry  and  be  very  active.  Something 
had  gone  wrong,  it  seemed.  There  had  been  a  stupid, 
violent  disaster,  pain  in  it  somewhere,  an  accident. 
Where  were  my  belongings  ?  Where,  for  instance, 
was  my  precious  ice-axe — tried  old  instrument  on 
which  my  life  and  safety  depended  ?  A  rush  of 
jumbled  questions  poured  across  my  mind.  The 
effort  to  sort  them  hurt  atrociously.  .   .   . 

A  figure  stood  beside  my  bed.  It  was  the  same 
old  lady  I  had  seen  a  moment  ago — or  was  it  a  month 
ago,  even  last  year  perhaps  ?  And  this  time  she  was 
alone.  Yet,  though  familiar  to  me  as  my  own  right 
hand,  I  could  not  for  the  life  of  me  attract  her  name. 
Searching  for  it  brought  the  pain  again.  Instead,  I 
asked  an  easier  question  ;  it  seemed  the  most  im- 
portant somehow,  though  a  feeling  of  shame  came 
with  it,  as  though  I  knew  I  was  talking  nonsense  : 

'  My  ice-axe — is  it  safe  ?  It  should  have  stood 
any  ordinary  strain.  It's  ash.  .  .  .'  My  voice 
failed  absurdly,  caught  away  by  a  whisper  half-way 
down  my  throat.  What  was  I  talking  about? 
There  was  vile  confusion  somewhere. 

She  smiled  tenderly,  sweetly,  as  she  placed  her 
small,  cool  hand  upon  my  forehead.  Her  touch 
calmed  me  as  it  always  did,  and  the  pain  retreated  a 
little. 

'  All  your  things  are  safe,'  she  answered,  in  a  voice 
so  soft  beneath  the  distant  ceiling  it  was  like  a  bird's 
note  singing  in  the  sky.  '  And  you  are  also  safe. 
There  is  no  danger  now.  The  bullet  has  been  taken 
out  and  all  is  going  well.  Only  you  must  be  patient, 
and  lie  very  still,  and  rest.'  And  then  she  added 
the  morsel  of  delicious  comfort  she  knew  quite  well 
I  waited   for  :    '  Marion  is  near  you  all   day    long, 


342  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

and  most  of  the  night  besides.  She  rarely  leaves 
you.     She  is  in  and  out  all  day.' 

I  stared,  thirsting  for  more.  Memory  put  certain 
pieces  in  their  place  again.  1  heard  them  click 
together  as  they  joined.  But  they  only  tried  to  join. 
There  were  several  pieces  missing.  They  must  have 
been  lost  in  the  disaster.  The  pattern  was  too 
ridiculous. 

*  I  ought  to  tel — telegraph '   I  began,  seizing 

at  a  fragment  that  poked  its  end  up,  then  plunged 
out  of  sight  again  before  I  could  read  more  of  it. 
The  pieces  fell  apart  ;  they  would  not  hold  together 
without  these  missing  fragments.  Anger  flamed  up 
in  me. 

'  They're  badly  made,'  I  said,  with  a  petulance  I 
was  secretly  ashamed  of ;   '  you  have  chosen  the  wrong 

pieces  !      I'm   not  a  child — to   be  treated '     A 

shock  of  heat  tore  through  me,  led  by  a  point  of  iron, 
with  blasting  pain. 

'  Sleep,  my  poor  dear  Felix,  sleep,'  she  murmured 
soothingly,  while  her  tiny  hand  stroked  my  forehead, 
just  in  time  to  prevent  that  pointed,  hot  thing  enter- 
ing my  heart.  '  Sleep  again  now,  and  a  little  later 
you  shall  tell  me  their  names,  and  I  will  send  on 
horseback  quickly ' 

'  Telegraph '   I   tried   to  say,   but    the  word 

went  lost  before  I  could  pronounce  it.  It  was  a 
nonsense  word,  caught  up  from  dreams.  Thought 
fluttered  and  went  out. 

'  I  will  send,'  she  whispered,  '  in  the  quickest 
possible  way.  You  shall  explain  to  Marion.  Sleep 
first  a  little  longer  ;  promise  me  to  lie  quite  still  and 
sleep.  When  you  wake  again,  she  will  come  to  you 
at  once.' 

She  sat  down  gently  on  the  edge  of  the  enormous 


WAYFARERS  343 

bed,  so  that  I  saw  her  outline  against  the  window 
where  the  roses  clambered  to  come  in.  She  bent 
over  me — or  was  it  a  rose  that  bent  in  the  wind 
across  the  stone  embrasure  ?  I  saw  her  clear  blue 
eyes — or  was  it  two  raindrops  upon  a  withered  rose- 
leaf  that  mirrored  the  summer  sky  ? 

'  Thank  you,'  my  voice  murmured  with  intense 
relief,  as  everything  sank  away  and  the  old-world 
garden  seemed  to  enter  by  the  latticed  windows. 
For  there  was  a  power  in  her  way  that  made  obedience 
sweet,  and  her  little  hand,  besides,  cushioned  the 
attack  of  that  cruel  iron  point  so  that  I  hardly  felt 
its  entrance.  Before  the  fierce  heat  could  reach  me, 
darkness  again  put  out  the  world.   .   .   . 

Then,  after  a  prodigious  interval,  my  eyes  once 
more  opened  to  the  stately,  old-world  chamber  that  I 
knew  so  well  ;  and  this  time  I  found  myself  alone. 
In  my  brain  was  a  stinging,  splitting  sensation,  as 
though  Memory  shook  her  pieces  together  with 
angry  violence,  pieces,  moreover,  made  of  clashing 
metal.  A  degrading  nausea  almost  vanquished  me. 
Against  my  feet  was  a  heated  metal  body,  too  heavy 
for  me  to  move,  and  bandages  were  tight  round  my 
neck  and  the  back  of  my  head.  Dimly,  it  came  back 
to  me  that  hands  had  been  about  me  hours  ago,  soft, 
ministering  hands  that  I  loved.  Their  perfume 
lingered  still.  Faces  and  names  fled  in  swift  pro- 
cession past  me,  yet  without  my  making  any  attempt 
to  bid  them  stay.  I  asked  myself  no  questions. 
Effort  of  any  sort  was  utterly  beyond  me.  I 
lay  and  watched  and  waited,  helpless  and  strangely 
weak. 

One  or  two  things  alone  were  clear.  They  came, 
too,  without  the  effort  to  think  them  : 

There  had  been  a  disaster  ;  they  had  carried  me 


344         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

into  the  nearest  house  ;  and — the  mountain  heights, 
so  keenly  longed  for,  were  suddenly  denied  me.  I 
was  being  cared  for  by  kind  people  somewhere  far 
from  the  world's  high  routes.  They  were  familiar 
people,  yet  for  the  moment  I  had  lost  the  name. 
But  it  was  the  bitterness  of  losing  my  holiday  climb- 
ing that  chiefly  savaged  me,  so  that  strong  desire 
returned  upon  itself  unfulfilled.  And,  knowing  the 
danger  of  frustrated  yearnings,  and  the  curious  states 
of  mind  they  may  engender,  my  tumbling  brain 
registered  a  decision  automatically  : 

'  Keep  careful  watch  upon  yourself,'  it  whispered. 

For  I  saw  the  peaks  that  towered  above  the  world, 
and  felt  the  wind  rise  from  the  hidden  valleys.  The 
perfume  of  lonely  ridges  came  to  me,  and  I  saw  the 
snow  against  the  blue-black  sky.  Yet  I  could  not 
reach  them.  I  lay,  instead,  broken  and  useless  upon 
my  back,  in  a  soft,  deep,  comfortable  bed.  And  I 
loathed  the  thought.  A  dull  and  evil  fury  rose  within 
me.  Where  was  Haddon  ?  He  would  get  me  out 
of  it  if  any  one  could.  And  where  was  my  dear,  old 
trusted  ice-axe  ?  Above  all,  who  were  these  gentle, 
old-world  people  who  cared  for  me?  .  .  .  And, 
with  this  last  thought,  came  some  fairy  touch  of 
sweetness  so  delicious  that  I  was  conscious  of  sudden 
resignation — more,  even  of  delight  and  joy. 

This  joy  and  anger  ran  races  for  possession  of  my 
mind,  and  I  knew  not  which  to  follow  :  both  seemed 
real,  and  both  seemed  true.  The  cruel  confusion 
was  an  added  torture.  Two  sets  of  places  and 
people  seemed  to  mingle. 

'  Keep  a  careful  watch  upon  yourself,'  repeated  the 
automatic  caution. 

Then,  with  returning,  blissful  darkness,  came 
another  thing — a  tiny  point  of  wonder,  where  light 


WAYFARERS  345 

entered  in.  I  thought  of  a  woman.  ...  It  was  a 
vehement,  commanding  thought  ;  and  though  at  first 
it  was  very  close  and  real — as  much  of  To-day  as 
Haddon  and  my  precious  ice-axe — the  next  second  it 
was  leagues  away  in  another  world  somewhere.  Yet, 
before  the  confusion  twisted  it  all  askew,  I  knew 
her  ;  I  remembered  clearly  even  where  she  lived  ; 
that  I  knew  her  husband,  too — had  stayed  with  them 
in — in  Scotland — yes,  in  Scotland.  Yet  no  word  in 
this  life  had  ever  crossed  my  lips,  for  she  was  not 
free  to  come.  Neither  of  us,  with  eyes  or  lips  or 
gesture,  had  ever  betrayed  a  hint  to  the  other  of  our 
deeply  hidden  secret.  And,  although  for  me  she 
was  the  woman,  my  great  yearning — long,  long  ago 
it  was,  in  early  youth — had  been  sternly  put  aside 
and  buried  with  all  the  vigour  nature  gave  me.  Her 
husband  was  my  friend  as  well. 

Only,  now,  the  shock  had  somehow  strained  the 
prison  bars,  and  the  yearning  escaped  for  a  moment 
full-fledged,  and  vehement  with  passion  long  denied. 
The  inhibition  was  destroyed.  The  knowledge  swept 
deliciously  upon  me  that  we  had  the  right  to  be 
together,  because  we  always  were  together.  I  had 
the  right  to  ask  for  her. 

My  mind  was  certainly  a  mere  field  of  confused, 
ungoverned  images.  No  thinking  was  possible,  for 
it  hurt  too  vilely.  But  this  one  memory  stood  out 
with  violence.  I  distinctly  remember  that  I  called 
to  her  to  come,  and  that  she  had  the  right  to  come 
because  my  need  was  so  peremptory.  To  the  one 
most  loved  of  all  this  life  had  brought  me,  yet  to 
whom  I  had  never  spoken  because  she  was  in  another's 
keeping,  I  called  for  help,  and  called,  I  verily  believe, 
aloud  : 

1  Please  come  !  '     Then,  close  upon  its  heels,  the 


346  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

automatic  warning  again  :  '  Keep  close  watch  upon 
yourself.   .   .   .   ! ' 

It  was  as  though  one  great  yearning  had  loosed 
the  other  that  was  even  greater,  and  had  set  it  free. 

Disappearing  consciousness  then  followed  the  cry 
for  an  incalculable  distance.  Down  into  subterraneans 
within  myself  that  were  positively  frightening  it 
plunged  away.  But  the  cry  was  real ;  the  yearning 
appeal  held  authority  in  it  as  of  command.  Love 
gave  the  right,  supplied  the  power  as  well.  For  it 
seemed  to  me  a  tiny  answer  came,  but  from  so  far 
away  that  it  was  scarcely  audible.  And  names  were 
nowhere  in  it,  either  in  answer  or  appeal. 

'  I  am  always  here.  I  have  never,  never  left 
you  ! ' 

The  unconsciousness  that  followed  was  not  com- 
plete, apparently.  There  was  a  memory  of  effort  in 
it,  of  struggle,  and,  as  it  were,  of  searching.  Some 
one  was  trying  to  get  at  me.  I  tossed  in  a  troubled 
sea  upon  a  piece  of  wreckage  that  another  swimmer 
also  fought  to  reach.  Huge  waves  of  transparent 
green  now  brought  this  figure  nearer,  now  concealed 
it,  but  it  came  steadily  on,  holding  out  a  rope.  My 
exhaustion  was  too  great  for  me  to  respond,  yet  this 
swimmer  swept  up  nearer,  brought  by  enormous 
rollers  that  threatened  to  engulf  us  both.  The  rope 
was  for  my  safety,  too.  I  saw  hands  outstretched. 
In  the  deep  water  I  saw  the  outline  of  the  body,  and 
once  I  even  saw  the  face.  But  for  a  second,  merely. 
The  wave  that  bore  it  crashed  with  a  horrible  roar 
that  smothered  us  both  and  swept  me  from  my  piece 
of  wreckage.  In  the  violent  flood  of  water  the  rope 
whipped  against  my  feeble  hands.  I  grasped  it.  A 
sense  of  divine  security  at  once  came  over  me — an 


WAYFARERS  347 

intolerable  sweetness  of  utter  bliss  and  comfort,  then 
blackness  and  suffocation  as  of  the  grave.  The 
white-hot  point  of  iron  struck  me.  It  beat  audibly 
against  my  heart.  I  heard  the  knocking.  The  pain 
brought  me  up  to  the  surface,  and  the  knocking  of 
my  dreams  was  in  reality  a  knocking  on  the  door. 
Some  one  was  gently  tapping. 

Such  was  the  confusion  of  images  in  my  pain- 
racked  mind,  that  I  expected  to  see  the  old  lady 
enter,  bringing  ropes  and  ice-axes,  and  followed  by 
Haddon,  my  mountaineering  friend  ;  for  I  thought 
that  I  had  fallen  down  a  deep  crevasse  and  had  waited 
hours  for  help  in  the  cold,  blue  darkness  of  the  ice. 
I  was  too  weak  to  answer,  and  the  knocking  for  that 
matter  was  not  repeated.  I  did  not  even  hear  the 
opening  of  the  door,  so  softly  did  she  move  into  the 
room.  I  only  knew  that  before  I  actually  saw  her, 
this  wave  of  intolerable  sweetness  drenched  me  once 
again  with  bliss  and  peace  and  comfort,  my  pain 
retreated,  and  I  closed  my  eyes,  knowing  I  should 
feel  that  cool  and  soothing  hand  upon  my  forehead. 

The  same  minute  I  did  feel  it.  There  was  a 
perfume  of  old  gardens  in  the  air.  I  opened  my  eyes 
to  look  the  gratitude  I  could  not  utter,  and  saw,  close 
against  me — not  the  old  lady,  but  the  young  and 
lovely  face  my  worship  had  long  made  familiar. 
With  lips  that  smiled  their  yearning  and  eyes  of 
brown  that  held  tears  of  sympathy,  she  sat  down 
beside  me  on  the  bed.  The  warmth  and  fragrance  of 
her  atmosphere  enveloped  me.  I  sank  away  into  a 
garden  where  spring  melts  magically  into  summer. 
Her  arms  were  round  my  neck.  Her  face  dropped 
down,  so  that  I  felt  her  hair  upon  my  cheek  and  eyes. 
And  then,  whispering  my  name  twice  over,  she  kissed 
me  on  the  lips. 


348  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

'  Marion,'  I  murmured. 

1  Hush  !  Mother  sends  you  this,'  she  answered 
softly.  '  You  are  to  take  it  all ;  she  made  it  with  her 
own  hands.  But  I  bring  it  to  you.  You  must  be 
quite  obedient,  please.' 

She  tried  to  rise,  but  I  held  her  against  my  breast. 

'  Kiss  me  again  and  I'll  promise  obedience  always,' 
I  strove  to  say.  But  my  voice  refused  so  long  a 
sentence,  and  anyhow  her  lips  were  on  my  own  before 
I  could  have  finished  it.  Slowly,  very  carefully,  she 
disentangled  herself,  and  my  arms  sank  back  upon 
the  coverlet.  I  sighed  in  happiness.  A  moment 
longer  she  stood  beside  my  bed,  gazing  down  with 
love  and  deep  anxiety  into  my  face. 

1  And  when  all  is  eaten,  all,  mind,  all,'  she  smiled, 
'  you  are  to  sleep  until  the  doctor  comes  this  after- 
noon. You  are  much  better.  Soon  you  shall  get 
up.  Only,  remember,'  shaking  her  finger  with  a 
sweet  pretence  of  looking  stern,  *  I  shall  exact  complete 
obedience.  You  must  yield  your  will  utterly  to  mine. 
You  are  in  my  heart,  and  my  heart  must  be  kept  very 
warm  and  happy.' 

Her  eyes  were  tender  as  her  mother's,  and  I  loved 
the  authority  and  strength  that  were  so  real  in  her.  I 
remembered  how  it  was  this  strength  that  had  sealed 
the  contract  her  beauty  first  drew  up  for  me  to  sign. 
She  bent  down  once  more  to  arrange  my  pillows. 

'  What  happened  to — to  the  motor  ? '  I  asked 
hesitatingly,  for  my  thoughts  would  not  regulate 
themselves.  The  mind  presented  such  incongruous 
fragments. 

1  The — what  ? '  she  asked,  evidently  puzzled. 
The  word  seemed  strange  to  her.  '  What  is  that  ? ' 
she  repeated,  anxiety  in  her  eyes. 

I  made  an  effort  to  tell  her,  but    I    could    not. 


WAYFARERS  349 

Explanation  was  suddenly  impossible.  The  whole 
idea  dived  away  out  of  sight.  It  utterly  evaded  me. 
I  had  again  invented  a  word  that  was  without 
meaning.  I  was  talking  nonsense.  In  its  place  my 
dream  came  up.  I  tried  to  tell  her  how  I  had  dreamed 
of  climbing  dangerous  heights  with  a  stranger,  and 
had  spoken  another  language  with  him  than  my 
own — English,  was  it  ? — at  any  rate,  not  my  native 
French. 

*  Darling,'  she  whispered  close  into  my  ear,  '  the 
bad  dreams  will  not  come  back.  You  are  safe  here, 
quite  safe.'  She  put  her  little  hand  like  a  flower  on 
my  forehead  and  drew  it  softly  down  the  cheek. 
'  Your  wound  is  already  healing.  They  took  the 
bullet  out  four  days  ago.  I  have  got  it,'  she  added 
with  a  touch  of  shy  embarrassment,  and  kissed  me 
tenderly  upon  my  eyes. 

'  How  long  have  you  been  away  from  me  ? '  I 
asked,  feeling  exhaustion  coming  back. 

'  Never  once  for  more  than  ten  minutes,'  was  the 
reply.  '  I  watched  with  you  all  night.  Only  this 
morning,  while  mother  took  my  place,  I  slept  a  little. 
But,  hush ! '  she  said,  with  dear  authority  again  ; 
'  you  are  not  to  talk  so  much.  You  must  eat  what  I 
have  brought,  then  sleep  again.  You  must  rest  and 
sleep.  Good-bye,  good-bye,  my  love.  I  shall  come 
back  in  an  hour,  and  I  shall  always  be  within  reach  of 
your  dear  voice.' 

Her  tall,  slim  figure,  dressed  in  the  grey  I  loved, 
crossed  silently  to  the  door.  She  gave  me  one  more 
look — there  was  all  the  tenderness  of  passionate  love 
in  it — and  then  was  gone. 

I  followed  instructions  meekly,  and  when  a 
delicious  sleep  stole  over  me  soon  afterwards,  I  had 
forgotten  utterly  the  ugly  dream  that  I  was  climbing 


350         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

dangerous  heights  with  another  man,  forgotten  as 
well  everything  else,  except  that  it  seemed  so  many 
days  since  my  love  had  come  to  me,  and  that  my 
bullet  wound  would  after  all  be  healed  in  time 
for  our  wedding  on  the  day  so  long,  so  eagerly 
waited  for. 

And  when,  several  hours  later,  her  mother  came  in 
with  the  doctor — his  face  less  grave  and  solemn  this 
time — the  news  that  I  might  get  up  next  day  and  lie 
a  little  in  the  garden,  did  more  to  heal  me  than  a 
thousand  bandages  or  twice  that  quantity  of  medical 
instructions. 

I  watched  them  as  they  stood  a  moment  by  the 
open  door.  They  went  out  very  slowly  together, 
speaking  in  whispers.  But  the  only  thing  I  caught 
was  the  mother's  voice,  talking  brokenly  of  the  great 
wars.  Napoleon,  the  doctor  was  saying  in  a  low, 
hushed  tone,  was  in  full  retreat  from  Moscow,  though 
the  news  had  only  just  come  through.  They  passed 
into  the  corridor  then,  and  there  was  a  sound  of 
weeping  as  the  old  lady  murmured  something  about 
her  son  and  the  cruelty  of  Heaven.  '  Both  will  be 
taken  from  me,'  she  was  sobbing  softly,  while  he 
stooped  to  comfort  her  ;  '  one  in  marriage,  and  the 
other  in  death.'  They  closed  the  door  then,  and  I 
heard  no  more. 


I 

Convalescence  seemed  to  follow  very  quickly  then, 
for  I  was  utterly  obedient  as  I  had  promised,  and 
never  spoke  of  what  could  excite  me  to  my  own 
detriment — the  wars  and  my  own  unfortunate  part  in 
them.  We  talked  instead  of  our  love,  our  already 
too-long   engagement,   and   of  the   sweet   dream   of 


WAYFARERS  351 

happiness  that  life  held  waiting  for  us  in  the  future. 
And,  indeed,  I  was  sufficiently  weary  of  the  world  to 
prefer  repose  to  much  activity,  for  my  body  was 
almost  incessantly  in  pain,  and  this  old  garden  where 
we  lay  between  high  walls  of  stone,  aloof  from  the 
busy  world  and  very  peaceful,  was  far  more  to  my 
taste  just  then  than  wars  and  fighting. 

The  orchards  were  in  blossom,  and  the  winds  of 
spring  showered  their  rain  of  petals  upon  the  long, 
new  grass.  We  lay,  half  in  sunshine,  half  in  shade, 
beneath  the  poplars  that  lined  the  avenue  towards 
the  lake,  and  behind  us  rose  the  ancient  grey  stone 
towers  where  the  jackdaws  nested  in  the  ivy  and 
the  pigeons  cooed  and  fluttered  from  the  woods 
beyond. 

There  was  loveliness  everywhere,  but  there  was 
sadness  too,  for  though  we  both  knew  that  the  wars 
had  taken  her  brother  whence  there  is  no  return,  and 
that  only  her  aged,  failing  mother's  life  stood  between 
ourselves  and  the  stately  property,  there  hid  a  sadness 
yet  deeper  than  either  of  these  thoughts  in  both  our 
hearts.  And  it  was,  I  think,  the  sadness  that  comes 
with  spring.  For  spring,  with  her  lavish,  short-lived 
promises  of  eternal  beauty,  is  ever  a  symbol  of  passing 
human  happiness,  incomplete  and  always  unfulfilled. 
Promises  made  on  earth  are  playthings,  after  all,  for 
children.  Even  while  we  make  them  so  solemnly, 
we  seem  to  know  they  are  not  meant  to  hold.  They 
are  made,  as  spring  is  made,  with  a  glory  of  soft, 
radiant  blossoms  that  pass  away  before  there  is  time 
to  realise  them.  And  yet  they  come  again  with  the 
return  of  spring,  as  unashamed  and  glorious  as  if 
Time  had  utterly  forgotten. 

And  this  sadness  was  in  her  too.  I  mean  it  was 
part  of  her  and  she  was  part  of  it.     Not   that  our 


352         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

love  could  change  to  pass  or  die,  but  that  its  sweet, 
so-long-desired  accomplishment  must  hold  away,  and, 
like  the  spring,  must  melt  and  vanish  before  it  had 
been  fully  known.  I  did  not  speak  of  it.  I  well 
understood  that  the  depression  of  a  broken  body  can 
influence  the  spirit  with  its  poisonous  melancholy, 
but  it  must  have  betrayed  itself  in  my  words  and 
gestures,  even  in  my  manner  too.  At  any  rate,  she 
was  aware  of  it.  I  think,  if  truth  be  told,  she  felt  it 
too.     It  seemed  so  painfully  inevitable. 

My  recovery,  meanwhile,  was  rapid,  and  from 
spending  an  hour  or  two  in  the  garden,  I  soon  came 
to  spend  the  entire  day.  For  the  spring  came  on 
with  a  rush,,  and  the  warmth  increased  deliciously. 
While  the  cuckoos  called  to  one  another  in  the  great 
beech-woods  behind  the  chateau,  we  sat  and  talked 
and  sometimes  had  our  simple  meals  or  coffee  there 
together,  and  I  particularly  recall  the  occasion  when 
solid  food  was  first  permitted  me  and  she  gave  me  a 
delicate  young  bondelle,  fresh  caught  that  very  morn- 
ing in  the  lake.  There  were  leaves  of  sweet,  crisp 
lettuce  with  it,  and  she  picked  the  bones  out  for  me 
with  her  own  white  hands. 

The  day  was  radiant,  with  a  sky  of  cloudless  blue, 
soft  airs  stirred  the  poplar  crests  ;  the  little  waves 
fell  on  the  pebbly  beach  not  fifty  metres  away,  and 
the  orchard  floor  was  carpeted  with  flowers  that 
seemed  to  have  caught  from  heaven's  stars  the  patterns 
of  their  yellow  blossoms.  The  bees  droned  peace- 
fully among  the  fruit  trees ;  the  air  was  full  of 
musical  deep  hummings.  My  former  vigour  stirred 
delightfully  in  my  blood,  and  I  knew  no  pain,  beyond 
occasional  dull  twinges  in  the  head  that  came  with  a 
rush  of  temporary  darkness  over  my  mind.  The 
scar  was  healed,   however,  and   the  hair  had  grown 


WAYFARERS  353 

over  it  again.  This  temporary  darkness  alarmed  her 
more  than  it  alarmed  me.  There  were  grave  com- 
plications, apparently,  that  I  did  not  know  of. 

But  the  deep-lying  sadness  in  me  seemed  in- 
dependent of  the  glorious  weather,  due  to  causes  so 
intangible,  so  far  off  that  I  never  could  dispel  them 
by  arguing  them  away.  For  I  could  not  discover 
what  they  actually  were.  There  was  a  vague,  dis- 
tressing sense  of  restlessness  that  I  ought  to  have 
been  elsewhere  and  otherwise,  that  we  were  together 
for  a  few  days  only,  and  that  these  few  days  I  had 
snatched  unlawfully  from  stern,  imperative  duties. 
These  duties  were  immediate,  but  neglected.  In  a 
sense  I  had  no  right  to  this  springtide  of  bliss  her 
presence  brought  me.  I  was  playing  truant  some- 
how, somewhere.  It  was  not  my  absence  from  the 
regiment  ;  that  I  know.  It  was  infinitely  deeper, 
set  to  some  enormous  scale  that  vaguely  frightened 
me,  while  it  deepened   the   sweetness   of  the  stolen 

Like  a  child,  I  sought  to  pin  the  sunny  hours 
against  the  sky  and  make  them  stay.  They  passed 
with  such  a  mocking  swiftness,  snatched  momentarily 
from  some  big  oblivion.  The  twilights  swallowed 
our  days  together  before  they  had  been  properly 
tasted,  and  on  looking  back,  each  afternoon  of 
happiness  seemed  to  have  been  a  mere  moment  in  a 
flying  dream.  And  I  must  have  somehow  betrayed 
the  aching  mood,  for  Marion  turned  of  a  sudden  and 
gazed  into  my  face  with  yearning  and  anxiety  in  the 
sweet  brown  eyes. 

'  What  is  it,  dearest?  '  I  asked,  '  and  why  do  your 
eyes  bring  questions  ? ' 

1  You  sighed,'  she  answered,  smiling  a  little  sadly  ; 
*  and  sighed  so  deeply.     You  are  in  pain  again.     The 

2  A 


354         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

darkness,  perhaps,  is  over  you  ?  '  And  her  hand 
stole  out  to  meet  my  own.     c  You  are  in  pain  ? ' 

'  Not  physical  pain,'  I  said,  '  and  not  the  darkness 
either.  I  see  you  clearly,'  and  would  have  told  her 
more,  as  I  carried  her  soft  fingers  to  my  lips,  had  I 
not  divined  from  the  expression  in  her  eyes  that  she 
read  my  heart  and  knew  all  my  strange,  mysterious 
forebodings  in  herself. 

*  I  know,'  she  whispered  before  I  could  find  speech, 
'  for  I  feel  it  too.  It  is  the  shadow  of  separation 
that  oppresses  you — yet  of  no  common,  measurable 
separation  you  can  understand.     Is  it  not  that  ?  ' 

Leaning  over  then,  I  took  her  close  into  my  arms, 
since  words  in  that  moment  were  mere  foolishness. 
I  held  her  so  that  she  could  not  get  away  ;  but  even 
while  I  did  so  it  was  like  trying  to  hold  the  spring, 
or  fasten  the  flying  hour  with  a  fierce  desire.  All 
slipped  from  me,  and  my  arms  caught  at  the  sunshine 
and  the  wind. 

'  We  have  both  felt  it  all  these  weeks,'  she  said 
bravely,  as  soon  as  I  had  released  her,  *  and  we  both 

have  struggled  to  conceal  it.       But   now '  she 

hesitated  for  a  second,  and  with  so  exquisite  a 
tenderness  that  I  would  have  caught  her  to  me  again 
but  for  my  anxiety  to  hear  her  further  words — '  now 
that  you  are  well,  we  may  speak  plainly  to  each 
other,  and  so  lessen  our  pain  by  sharing  it.'  And 
then  she  added,  still  more  softly  :  '  You  feel  there  is 
"  something  "  that  shall  take  you  from  me — yet  what 
it  is  you  cannot  discover  nor  divine.  Tell  me, 
Felix — all  your  thought,  that  I  in  turn  may  tell  you 
mine.' 

Her  voice  floated  about  me  in  the  sunny  air.  I 
stared  at  her,  striving  to  focus  the  dear  face  more 
clearly  for  my  sight.     A  shower  of  apple  blossoms 


WAYFARERS  355 

fell  about  us,  and  her  words  seemed  floating  past  me 
like  those  passing  petals  of  white.  They  drifted 
away.  I  followed  them  with  difficulty  and  confusion. 
With  the  wind,  I  fancied,  a  veil  of  indefinable  change 
slipped  across  her  face  and  eyes. 

'  Yet  nothing  that  could  alter  feeling,'  I  answered  ; 
for  she  had  expressed  my  own  thought  completely. 
'  Nor  anything  that  either  of  us  can  control.  Only — 
perhaps,  that  everything  must  fade  and  pass  away, 
just  as  this  glory  of  the  spring  must  fade  and  pass 
away ' 

'  Yet  leaving  its  sweetness  in  us,'  she  caught  me 
up  passionately,  'and  to  come  again,  my  beloved,  to 
come  again  in  every  subsequent  life,  each  time  with 
an  added  sweetness  in  it  too !  '  Her  little  face 
showed  suddenly  the  courage  of  a  lion  in  its  eyes. 
Her  heart  was  ever  braver  than  my  own,  a  vigorous, 
fighting  soul.  She  spoke  of  lives,  I  prattled  of  days 
and  hours  merely. 

A  touch  of  shame  stole  over  me.  But  that 
delicate,  swift  change  in  her  spread  too.  With  a 
thrill  of  ominous  warning  I  noticed  how  it  rose  and 
grew  about  her.  From  within,  outwards,  it  seemed 
to  pass — like  a  shadow  of  great  blue  distance.  Shadow 
was  somewhere  in  it,  so  that  she  dimmed  a  little  be- 
fore my  very  eyes.  The  dreadful  yearning  searched 
and  shook  me,  for  I  could  not  understand  it,  try  as  I 
would.  She  seemed  going  from  me — drifting  like 
her  words  and  like  the  apple  blossoms. 

'  But  when  we  shall  no  longer  be  here  to  know 
it,'  I  made  answer  quickly,  yet  as  calmly  as  I  could, 
'  and  when  we  shall  have  passed  to  some  other  place 
— to  other  conditions — where  we  shall  not  recognise 
the  joy  and  wonder.  When  barriers  of  mist  shall 
have   rolled   between  us — our   love   and   passion    so 


356         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

made-over  that  we  shall  not  know  each  other  ' — the 
words  rushed  out  feverishly,  half  beyond  control — 
1  and  perhaps  shall  not  even  dare  to  speak  to  each 
other  of  our  deep  desire ' 

I  broke  off  abruptly,  conscious  that  I  was  speaking 
out  of  some  unfamiliar  place  where  1  floundered, 
helpless  among  strange  conditions.  I  was  saying 
things  I  hardly  understood  myself.  Her  bigger, 
deeper  mood  spoke  through  me,  perhaps. 

Her  darling  face  came  back  again  ;  she  moved 
close  within  reach  once  more. 

<  Hush,  hush  ! '  she  whispered,  terror  and  love 
both  battling  in  her  eyes.  '  It  is  the  truth,  perhaps, 
but  you  must  not  say  such  things.  To  speak  them 
brings  them  closer.  A  chain  is  about  our  hearts,  a 
chain  of  fashioning  lives  without  number,  but  do  not 
seek  to  draw  upon  it  with  anxiety  or  fear.  To  do 
so  can  only  cause  the  pain  of  wrong  entanglement, 
and  interrupt  the  natural  running  of  the  iron  links.' 
And  she  placed  her  hand  swiftly  upon  my  mouth,  as 
though  divining  that  the  bleak  attack  of  anguish 
was  again  upon  me  with  its  throbbing  rush  of 
darkness. 

But  for  once  I  was  disobedient  and  resisted.  The 
physical  pain,  I  realised  vividly,  was  linked  closely 
with  this  spiritual  torture.  One  caused  the  other 
somehow.  The  disordered  brain  received,  though 
brokenly,  some  hints  of  darker  and  unusual  know- 
ledge. It  had  stammered  forth  in  me,  but  through 
her  it  flowed  easily  and  clear.  I  saw  the  change 
move  more  swiftly  then  across  her  face.  Some 
ancient  look  passed  into  both  her  eyes. 

And  it  was  inevitable  ;  I  must  speak  out,  regard- 
less of  mere  bodily  well-being. 

1  We  shall  have  to  face  them  some  day/  I  cried, 


WAYFARERS  357 

although  the  effort  hurt  abominably,  '  then  why  not 
now  ? '  And  I  drew  her  hand  down  and  kissed  it 
passionately  over  and  over  again.  '  We  are  not 
children,  to  hide  our  faces  among  shadows  and 
pretend  we  are  invisible.  At  least  we  have  the 
Present — the  Moment  that  is  here  and  now.  We 
stand  side  by  side  in  the  heart  of  this  deep  spring  day. 
This  sunshine  and  these  flowers,  this  wind  across  the 
lake,  this  sky  of  blue  and  this  singing  of  the  birds — 
all,  all  are  ours  now.  Let  us  use  the  moment  that 
Time  gives,  and  so  strengthen  the  chain  you  speak  of 
that  shall  bring  us  again  together  times  without 
number.  We  shall  then,  perhaps,  remember.  Oh, 
my  heart,  think  what  that  would  mean — to 
remember  ! ' 

Exhaustion  caught  me,  and  I  sank  back  among 
my  cushions.  But  Marion  rose  up  suddenly  and 
stood  beside  me.  And  as  she  did  so,  another  Sky 
dropped  softly  down  upon  us  both,  and  I  smelt  again 
the  incense  of  old,  old  gardens  that  brought  long- 
forgotten  perfumes,  incredibly  sweet,  but  with  it  an 
ache  of  far-off,  passionate  remembrance  that  was 
pain.  This  great  ache  of  distance  swept  over  me 
like  a  wave. 

I  know  not  what  grand  change  then  was  wrought 
upon  her  beauty,  so  that  I  saw  her  defiant  and  erect, 
commanding  Fate  because  she  understood  it.  She 
towered  over  me,  but  it  was  her  soul  that  towered. 
The  rush  of  internal  darkness  in  me  blotted  out  all 
else.  The  familiar,  present  sky  grew  dim,  the  sun- 
shine faded,  the  lake  and  flowers  and  poplars  dipped 
away.  Conditions  a  thousand  times  more  vivid  took 
their  place.  She  stood  out,  clear  and  shining  in  the 
glory  of  an  undressed  soul,  brave  and  confident  with 
an    eternal    love    that    separation    strengthened    but 


358  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

could  never,  never  change.  The  deep  sadness  I 
abruptly  realised,  was  very  little  removed  from  joy — 
because,  somehow,  it  was  the  condition  of  joy.  I 
could  not  explain  it  more  than  that. 

And  her  voice,  when  she  spoke,  was  firm  with  a 
note  of  steel  in  it ;  intense,  yet  devoid  of  the  wasting 
anger  that  passion  brings.  She  was  determined 
beyond  Death  itself,  upon  a  foundation  sure  and 
lasting  as  the  stars.  The  heart  in  her  was  calm, 
because  she  knew.     She  was  magnificent. 

'  We  are  together — always,'  she  said,  her  voice 
rich  with  the  knowledge  of  some  unfathomable 
experience,  '  for  separation  is  temporary  merely, 
forging  new  links  in  the  ancient  chain  of  lives  that 
binds  our  hearts  eternally  together.'  She  looked  like 
one  who  has  conquered  the  adversity  Time  brings, 
by  accepting  it.  'You  speak  of  the  Present  as 
though  our  souls  were  already  fitted  now  to  bid  it 
stay,  needing  no  further  fashioning.  Looking  only 
to  the  Future,  you  forget  our  ample  Past  that  has 
made  us  what  we  are.  Yet  our  Past  is  here  and  now, 
beside  us  at  this  very  moment.  Into  the  hollow  cups 
of  weeks  and  months,  of  years  and  centuries,  Time 
pours  its  flood  beneath  our  eyes.  Time  is  our 
schoolroom.  .  .  .  Are  you  so  soon  afraid  ?  Does 
not  separation  achieve  that  which  companionship 
never  could  accomplish  ?  And  how  shall  we  dare 
eternity  together  if  we  cannot  be  strong  in  separation 
first  ? ' 

I  listened  while  a  flood  of  memories  broke  up 
through  film  upon  film  and  layer  upon  layer  that  had 
long  covered  them. 

'  This  Present  that  we  seem  to  hold  between  our 
hands,'  she  went  on  in  that  earnest,  distant  voice,  '  is 
our  moment  of  sweet  remembrance  that  you  speak 


WAYFARERS  359 

of,  of  renewal,  perhaps,  too,  of  reconciliation — a 
fleeting  instant  when  we  may  kiss  again  and  say 
good-bye,  but  with  strengthened  hope  and  courage 
revived.  But  we  may  not  stay  together  finally — we 
cannot — until  long  discipline  and  pain  shall  have 
perfected  sympathy  and  schooled  our  love  by  search- 
ing, difficult  tests,  that  it  may  last  for  ever.' 

I  stretched  my  arms  out  dumbly  to  take  her  in. 
Her  face  shone  down  upon  me,  bathed  in  an  older, 
fiercer  sunlight.  The  change  in  her  seemed  in  an 
instant  then  complete.  Some  big,  soft  wind  blew 
both  of  us  ten  thousand  miles  away.  The  centuries 
gathered  us  back  together. 

'  Look,  rather,  to  the  Past,'  she  whispered  grandly, 
'  where  first  we  knew  the  sweet  opening  of  our  love. 
Remember,  if  you  can,  how  the  pain  and  separation 
have  made  it  so  worth  while  to  continue.  And  be 
braver  thence.' 

She  turned  her  eyes  more  fully  upon  my  own,  so 
that  their  light  persuaded  me  utterly  away  with  her. 
An  immense  new  happiness  broke  over  me.  I 
listened,  and  with  the  stirrings  of  an  ampler  courage. 
It  seemed  I  followed  her  down  an  interminable  vista 
of  remembrance  till  I  was  happy  with  her  among  the 
flowers  and  fields  of  our  earliest  pre-existence. 

Her  voice  came  to  me  with  the  singing  of  birds 
and  the  hum  of  summer  insects. 

'  Have  you  so  soon  forgotten,'  she  sighed,  '  when 
we  knew  together  the  perfume  of  the  hanging 
Babylonian  Gardens,  or  when  the  Hesperides  were  so 
soft  to  us  in  the  dawn  of  the  world  ?  And  do  you 
not  remember,'  with  a  little  rise  of  passion  in  her 
voice,  '  the  sweet  plantations  of  Chaldea,  and  how  we 
tasted  the  odour  of  many  a  drooping  flower  in  the 
gardens    of  Alcinous    and    Adonis,   when    the    bees 


360         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

of  olden  time  picked  out  the  honey  for  our  eating  ? 
It  is  the  fragrance  of  those  first  hours  we  knew 
together  that  still  lies  in  our  hearts  to-day,  sweetening 
our  love  to  this  apparent  suddenness.  Hence  comes 
the  full,  deep  happiness  we  gather  so  easily  To- 
day. .  .  .  The  breast  of  every  ancient  forest  is  torn 
with  storms  and  lightning  .  .  .  that's  why  it  is  so 
soft  and  full  of  little  gardens.  You  have  forgotten 
too  easily  the  glades  of  Lebanon,  where  we  whispered 
our  earliest  secrets  while  the  big  winds  drove  their 
chariots  down  those  earlier  skies  .  .   .' 

There  rose  an  indescribable  tempest  of  remem- 
brance in  my  heart  as  I  strove  to  bring  the  pictures 
into  focus  ;  but  words  failed  me,  and  the  hand  I 
eagerly  stretched  out  to  touch  her  own,  met  only 
sunshine  and  the  rain  of  apple  blossoms. 

*  The  myrrh  and  frankincense,'  she  continued  in  a 
sighing  voice  that  seemed  to  come  with  the  wind  from 
invisible  caverns  in  the  sky,  'the  grapes  and  pome- 
granates— have  they  all  passed  from  you,  with  the 
train  of  apes  and  peacocks,  the  tigers  and  the  ibis, 
and  the  hordes  of  dark-faced  slaves  ?  And  this  little 
sun  that  plays  so  lightly  here  upon  our  woods  of 
beech  and  pine — does  it  bring  back  nothing  of  the 
old-time  scorching  when  the  olive  slopes,  the  figs  and 
ripening  cornfields  heard  our  vows  and  watched  our 
love  mature  ?  .  .  .  Our  spread  encampment  in  the 
Desert — do  not  these  sands  upon  our  little  beach 
revive  its  lonely  majesty  for  you,  and  have  you 
forgotten  the  gleaming  towers  of  Semiramis  ...  or, 
in  Sardis,  those  strange  lilies  that  first  tempted  our 
souls  to  their  divine  disclosure  .   .   .  ?  ' 

Conscious  of  a  violent  struggle  between  pain  and 
joy,  both  too  deep  for  me  to  understand,  I  rose  to 
seize  her  in  my  arms.     But  the  effort  dimmed  the 


WAYFARERS  361 

flying  pictures.  The  wind  that  bore  her  voice  down 
the  stupendous  vista  fled  back  into  the  caverns  whence 
it  came.  And  the  pain  caught  me  in  a  vice  of  agony 
so  searching  that  I  could  not  move  a  muscle.  My 
tongue  lay  dry  against  my  lips.  I  could  not  frame  a 
word  of  any  sentence.  .   .  . 

Her  voice  presently  came  back  to  me,  but  fainter, 
like  a  whisper  from  the  stars.  The  light  dimmed 
everywhere  ;  I  saw  no  more  the  vivid,  shining  scenery 
she  had  summoned.  A  mournful  dusk  instead 
crept  down  upon  the  world  she  had  momentarily 
revived. 

' ...  we  may  not  stay  together,'  I  heard  her 
little  whisper,  '  until  long  discipline  shall  have 
perfected  sympathy,  and  schooled  our  love  to  last. 
For  this  love  of  ours  is  for  ever,  and  the  pain 
that  tries  it  is  the  furnace  that  fashions  precious 
stones.  .   .  .' 

Again  1  stretched  my  arms  out.  Her  face  shone 
a  moment  longer  in  that  forgotten  fiercer  sunlight, 
then  faded  very  swiftly.  The  change,  like  a  veil, 
passed  over  it.  From  the  place  of  prodigious  distance 
where  she  had  been,  she  swept  down  towards  me  with 
such  dizzy  speed.  As  she  was  To-day  I  saw  her 
again,  more  and  more. 

'  Pain  and  separation,  then,  are  welcome,'  I  tried 
to  stammer,  '  and  we  will  desire  them ' — but  my 
thought  got  no  further  into  expression  than  the 
first  two  words.  Aching  blotted  out  coherent 
utterance. 

She  bent  down  very  close  against  my  face.  Her 
fragrance  was  about  my  lips.  But  her  voice  ran  off 
like  a  faint  thrill  of  music,  far,  far  away._  I  caught 
the  final  words,  dying  away  as  wind  dies  in  high 
branches  of  a  wood.     And  they  reached  me  this  time 


362  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

through    the    droning    of   bees    and    of  waves  that 
murmured  close  at  hand  upon  the  shore. 

'  .  .  .  for  our  love  is  of  the  soul,  and  our  souls 
are  moulded  in  Eternity.  It  is  not  yet,  it  is  not 
now,  our  perfect  consummation.  Nor  shall  our  next 
time  of  meeting  know  it.  We  shall  not  even  speak. 
.  .  .  For  I  shall  not  be  free.  .  .  .'  was  what  I  heard. 
She  paused. 

'  You  mean  we  shall  not  know  each  other  ? '  I 
cried,  in  an  anguish  of  spirit  that  mastered  the  lesser 
physical  pain. 

I  barely  caught  her  answer  : 

'  My  discipline  then  will  be  in  another's  keeping — 
yet  only  that  I  may  come  back  to  you  .  .  .  more 
perfect  ...  in  the  end.   .   .   .' 

The  bees  and  waves  then  cushioned  her  whisper 
with  their  humming.  The  trail  of  a  deeper  silence 
led  them  far  away.  The  rush  of  temporary  darkness 
passed  and  lifted.  I  opened  my  eyes.  My  love  sat 
close  beside  me  in  the  shadow  of  the  poplars.  One 
hand  held  both  my  own,  while  with  the  other  she 
arranged  my  pillows  and  stroked  my  aching  head. 
The  world  dropped  back  into  a  tiny  scale  once 
more. 

'  You  have  had  the  pain  again,'  Marion  murmured 
anxiously,  *  but  it  is  better  now.  It  is  passing.'  She 
kissed  my  cheek.     '  You  must  come  in.   .   .   .' 

But  I  would  not  let  her  go.  1  held  her  to  me 
with  all  the  strength  that  was  in  me.  '  I  had  it,  but 
it's  gone  again.  An  awful  darkness  came  with  it,' 
I  whispered  in  the  little  ear  that  was  so  close  against 
my  mouth.  '  I've  been  dreaming,'  I  told  her,  as 
memory  dipped  away,  '  dreaming  of  you  and  me — 
together  somewhere — in  old  gardens,  or  forests — 
where  the  sun  was ' 


WAYFARERS  363 

But  she  would  not  let  me  finish.  I  think,  in  any 
case,  I  could  not  have  said  more,  for  thought  evaded 
me,  and  any  language  of  coherent  description  was  in 
the  same  instant  beyond  my  power.  Exhaustion  came 
upon  me,  that  vile,  compelling  nausea  with  it. 

'  The  sun  here  is  too  strong  for  you,  dear  love,' 
I  heard  her  saying,  '  and  you  must  rest  more.  We 
have  been  doing  too  much  these  last  few  days.  You 
must  have  more  repose.'  She  rose  to  help  me  move 
indoors. 

'  I  have  been  unconscious  then  ? '  I  asked,  in  the 
feeble  whisper  that  was  all  I  could  manage. 

'  For  a  little  while.  You  slept,  while  I  watched 
over  you.' 

'  But  I  was  away  from  you  !  Oh,  how  could 
you  let  me  sleep,  when  our  time  together  is  so 
short  ? ' 

She  soothed  me  instantly  in  the  way  she  knew  we 
both  loved  so.  I  clung  to  her  until  she  released 
herself  again. 

1  Not  away  from  me,'  she  smiled,  '  for  I  was  with 
you  in  your  dreaming.' 

'  Of  course,  of  course  you  were ' ;  but  already  I 
knew  not  exactly  why  I  said  it,  nor  caught  the  deep 
meaning  that  struggled  up  into  my  words  from  such 
unfathomable  distance. 

1  Come,'  she  added,  with  her  sweet  authority  again, 
'  we  must  go  in  now.  Give  me  your  arm,  and  I  will 
send  out  for  the  cushions.  Lean  on  me.  I  am  going 
to  put  you  back  to  bed.' 

'  But  I  shall  sleep  again,'  I  said  petulantly,  '  and 
we  shall  be  separated.' 

'We  shall  dream  together,'  she  replied,  as  she 
helped  me  slowly  and  painfully  towards  the  old  grey 
walls  of  the  chateau. 


364         INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

II 

Half  an  hour  later  I  slept  deeply,  peacefully,  upon 
my  bed  in  the  big  stately  chamber  where  the  roses 
watched  beside  the  latticed  windows. 

And  to  say  I  dreamed  again  is  not  correct,  for  it 
can  only  be  expressed  by  saying  that  I  saw  and  knew. 
The  figures  round  the  bed  were  actual,  and  in  life. 
Nothing  could  be  more  real  than  the  whisper  of  the 
doctor's  voice — that  solemn,  grave-faced  man  who 
was  so  tall — as  he  said,  sternly  yet  brokenly,  to 
some  one  :  '  You  must  say  good-bye  ;  and  you  had 
better  say  it  now*  Nor  could  anything  be  more 
definite  and  sure,  more  charged  with  the  actuality  of 
living,  than  the  figure  of  Marion,  as  she  stooped  over 
me  to  obey  the  terrible  command.  For  I  saw  her 
face  float  down  towards  me  like  a  star,  and  a  shower 
of  pale  spring  blossoms  rained  upon  me  with  her  hair. 
The  perfume  of  old,  old  gardens  rose  about  me  as 
she  slipped  to  her  knees  beside  the  bed  and  kissed 
my  lips — so  softly  it  was  like  the  breath  of  wind  from 
lake  and  orchard,  and  so  lingeringly  it  was  as  though 
the  blossoms  lay  upon  my  mouth  and  grew  into 
flowers  that  she  planted  there. 

'  Good-bye,  my  love  ;  be  brave.  It  is  only  separa- 
tion.' 

'  It  is  death,'  I  tried  to  say,  but  could  only  feebly 
stir  my  lips  against  her  own. 

I  drew  her  breath  of  flowers  into  my  mouth  .  .  . 
and  there  came  then  the  darkness  which  is  final. 

The  voices  grew  louder.  I  heard  a  man  struggling 
with  an  unfamiliar  language.  Turning  restlessly,  I 
opened  my  eyes — upon  a  little,  stuffy  room,  with 
white  walls  whereon  no  pictures  hung.     It  was  very 


WAYFARERS  365 

hot.  A  woman  was  standing  beside  the  bed,  and  the 
bed  was  very  short.  I  stretched,  and  my  feet  kicked 
against  the  boarding  at  the  end. 

'  Yes,  he  is  awake,'  the  woman  said  in  French. 
'  Will  you  come  in  ?  The  doctor  said  you  might  see 
him  when  he  woke.  I  think  he'll  know  you.'  She 
spoke  in  French.  I  just  knew  enough  to  under- 
stand. 

And  of  course  I  knew  him.  It  was  Haddon.  I 
heard  him  thanking  her  for  all  her  kindness,  as  he 
blundered  in.  His  French,  if  anything,  was  worse 
than  my  own.     I  felt  inclined  to  laugh.     I  did  laugh. 

'  By  Jove  !  old  man,  this  is  bad  luck,  isn't  it  ? 
You've  had  a  narrow  shave.  This  good  lady  tele- 
graphed  ' 

1  Have  you  got  my  ice-axe  ?  Is  it  all  right  ? ' 
I  asked.  I  remembered  clearly  the  motor  accident — 
everything. 

'  The  ice-axe  is  right  enough,'  he  laughed,  looking 
cheerfully  at  the  woman,  'but  what  about  yourself? 
Feel  bad  still  ?     Any  pain,  I  mean  ? ' 

'  Oh,  I  feel  all  right,'  I  answered,  searching  for 
the  pain  of  broken  bones,  but  finding  none.  '  What 
happened  ?     I  was  stunned,  I  suppose  ? ' 

'  Bit  stunned,  yes,'  said  Haddon.  '  You  got  a 
nasty  knock  on  the  head,  it  seems.  The  point  of 
the  axe  ran  into  you,  or  something.' 

*  Was  that  all  ? ' 

He  nodded.  'But  I'm  afraid  it's  knocked  our 
climbing  on  the  head.     Shocking  bad  luck,  isn't  it  ? ' 

'  I  telegraphed  last  night,'  the  kind  woman  was 
explaining. 

'  But  I  couldn't  get  here  till  this  morning,'  Haddon 
said.  'The  telegram  didn't  find  me  till  midnight, 
you  see.'     And  he  turned  to  thank  the  woman  in  his 


366  INCREDIBLE  ADVENTURES 

voluble,  dreadful  French.  She  kept  a  little  pension 
on  the  shores  of  the  lake.  It  was  the  nearest  house, 
and  they  had  carried  me  in  there  and  got  the  doctor 
to  me  all  within  the  hour.  It  proved  slight  enough, 
apart  from  the  shock.  It  was  not  even  concussion. 
I  had  merely  been  stunned.  Sleep  had  cured  me,  as 
it  seemed. 

'  Jolly  little  place,'  said  Haddon,  as  he  moved  me 
that  afternoon  to  Geneva,  whence,  after  a  few  days' 
rest,  we  went  on  into  the  Alps  of  Haute  Savoie,  *  and 
lucky  the  old  body  was  so  kind  and  quick.  Odd, 
wasn't  it  ? '     He  glanced  at  me. 

Something  in  his  voice  betrayed  he  hid  another 
thought.  I  saw  nothing  '  odd '  in  it  at  all,  only  very 
tiresome. 

1  What's  its  name  ? '  I  asked,  taking  a  shot  at  a 
venture. 

He  hesitated  a  second.  Haddon,  the  climber,  was 
not  skilled  in  the  delicacies  of  tact. 

'  Don't  know  its  present  name,'  he  answered,  look- 
ing away  from  me  across  the  lake,  '  but  it  stands  on 
the  site  of  an  old  chateau — destroyed  a  hundred 
years  ago — the  Chateau  de  Bellerive.' 

And  then  I  understood  my  old  friend's  absurd 
confusion.  For  Bellerive  chanced  also  to  be  the 
name  of  a  married  woman  I  knew  in  Scotland — at 
least,  it  was  her  maiden  name,  and  she  was  of  French 
extraction. 


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RECENT    FICTION 

A  CHANGED  MAN,  THE  WAITING 

SUPPER,    AND     OTHER     TALES,    CONCLUDING 

with     THE      ROMANTIC      ADVEN- 
TURES   OF   A    MILKMAID. 

By  THOMAS  HARDY.     Extra  crown  8vo.   6s. 

Daily  Graphic. — "  In  all  these  stories  there  is  a  uniformity  of 
high  achievement,  a  clearness  of  conception,  and  a  perfection  in 
achievement  which  it  is  difficult  to  discover  in  the  pages  of  any 
other  living  author." 

Times. — "There  is  not  a  page  in  the  collection  that  does  not 
bear  the  unmistakable  imprint  of  Mr.  Hardy's  personality;  and 
for  those  who  have  acquired  the  complete  Wessex  Edition  of  the 
works  there  could  not  be  a  more  characteristic  and  delightful 
makeweight." 

Daily  Chronicle. — "  Most  readers  will  be  astonished  that  so 
delightful  a  tale  as  The  Romantic  Adventures  of  a  Milkmaid  has 
been  hitherto  uncollected.  .  .  .  The  whole  book  is  alive  and 
treasurable." 

Evening  Standard. — "  Decidedly  no  edition  of  Mr.  Hardy  could 
have  vaunted  itself  complete  had  it  lacked  these  minor  novels." 

Daily  News. — "There  has  been  no  such  a  collection  of  shorr 
stories  since  Life's  Little  Ironies  appeared." 

Pall  Mall  Gazette. — "These  local  tales,  which  Mr.  Hardy  has 
made  into  '  minor  novels,'  must  be  of  endless  interest  for  those 
who  appreciate  the  fuller  products  of  his  art." 

Standard. — "  In  every  one  of  them  there  is  the  glimpse  and  glint 
of  supreme  genius.  .  .  .  They  put  us  out  of  conceit  with  the  best 
flights  of  newer  talent." 

Guardian. — "Stories  such  as  no  other  living  author  could  write." 

Globe. — "  If  this  book  will  add  nothing  to  the  greatness  of 
Thomas  Hardy,  it  will  with  equal  certainty  take  nothing  away. 
...  As  certain  to  be  welcomed  by  students  of  the  art  of  Thomas 
Hardy  as  by  readers  who  will  be  glad  of  it  for  the  stories  it 
contains." 


RECENT    FICTION 


WAITING. 

By  GERALD  O'DONOVAN.  Extra  crown  8vo. 
6s. 

Pall  Mall  Gazette. — "The  story  is  full  of  life  and  action  and 
character,  and  the  humour  is  not  wanting.  It  brings  the  Ireland 
of  to-day  closer  to  us,  and  throws  fresh  light  on  the  national 
spirit." 

The  Times. — "To  consider  this  book  simply  as  a  piece  of  fiction 
just  now  is  almost  impossible ;  it  is  one  more  contribution  to  the 
hydra-headed  Irish  question.  It  is  like  a  flaming  brand  flung  into 
the  middle  of  a  roaring  bonfire.  Mr.  O'Donovan's  whole  mind 
and  heart  have  gone  into  the  writing  of  his  story.  It  is  no  less 
clear  that  it  is  the  outcome  of  direct  experience." 

Daily  News. — "  Waiting  is  full  of  charming  sketches  of  Irish 
character,  a  real  tenderness  for  Irish  religion,  and  a  keen  sense  of 
the  difference  between  clericalism  and  Catholicism." 

Daily  Mail. — "The  power  and  quiet  beauty  of  Mr.  O'Donovan's 
Father  Ralph  are  more  than  sustained  in  his  new  novel." 


FATHER    RALPH. 

By  GERALD  O'DONOVAN.    Extra  crown  8vo. 
6s. 

Times. — "  Written  in  deadly  earnest  and  with  extraordinarily 
intimate  knowledge.  ...  A  marvellous  picture  of  Irish  life  on  the 
religious  side,  in  all  its  phases  and  varieties." 

Daily  Chronicle. — "  In  several  respects  one  of  the  most  important 
novels  published  in  these  days." 

Westminster  Gazette. — "  A  clearly  conceived  and  intensely  in- 
teresting novel.  .  .   .  Father  Ralph  is  indeed  an  impressive  work." 

Daily  News. — "  It  takes  both  courage  and  conviction  to  write 
a  novel  like  this.  It  takes  also  a  burden  of  experience  to  write  it 
so  well." 

Pall  Mall  Gazette. — "A  book  of  absorbing  and  poignant  interest." 


RECENT    FICTION 

THE    WORLD    SET    FREE:    A   Story 
of  Mankind. 

By  H.  G.  WELLS.     Extra  crown  8vo.     6s. 

Daily  Mail. — "With  a  vigour  and  audacity  of  imagination  which 
no  other  writer  of  our  day  can  equal,  Mr.  H.  G.  Wells  has 
described  what  the  world  will  be  like  in  the  middle  of  the  present 
century.   ...    A  book  which  must  make  a  very  great  impression." 

Daily  News. — "  It  is  as  startling  as  anything  Mr.  Wells  has  ever 
written.  It  contains  one  of  the  most  sensational  chapters  in  the 
literature  of  anticipation." 

Times. — "Once  more,  with  his  brilliant  imagination,  Mr.  Wells 
has  projected  the  possibilities  of  a  scientific  development  down 
through  society  at  large  to  the  individual,  and  never  has  he  done 
so  more  convincingly  or  with  greater  ingenuity." 

BENDISH  :    A  Study  in   Prodigality. 

By    MAURICE    HEWLETT.       Extra   crown 
8vo.     6s. 

Daily  Chronicle. — "This  novel  is  one  of  Mr.  Hewlett's  finest. 
.  .  .  One  must  confess  that  English  fiction  is  as  great  now  as 
ever  it  was.  One  swells  with  pride  to  think  that  modern  men  can 
write  so  well." 

Morning  Post. — "The  novel  is  full  of  fascination  and  interest." 

World. — "Considered  as  a  work  of  deliberate,  delicate,  highly 
finished  art,  Mr.  Maurice  Hewlett  has  probably  done  nothing 
better  than  this  his  latest  book." 

Guardian. — "A  powerful  piece  of  work  well  told." 


Three  Books  by 
James    Stephens 

HERE    ARE    LADIES. 

Crown  8vo.     5;.  net. 

Daily  Chronicle. — "Work  admirably  representative  of  the  writer's 
genius.  The  subtle  and  humorous  criticism  of  life,  the  deep  yet 
simple  philosophy  wrought  into  apothegms  after  the  manner  of 
Blake  and  Lavater,  which  added  such  lustre  to  The  Crock  of 
Gold." 

Times. — "A  story  may  have  many  and  diverse  effects  upon  its 
reader.  It  may  leave  him  smiling,  laughing,  frowning  (perhaps 
weeping),  angry,  perplexed,  exalted,  afraid.  The  bits  of  stories  in 
Here  are  Ladies,  the  sketches,  essays,  snapshots,  call  them  what 
you  will,  will  leave  him  for  the  most  part  happy  and  hungry — for 
more." 

Daily  Graphic. — "  One  might  go  on  quoting,  and  perhaps  quoting 
to  more  persuasive  effect ;  but  for  ourselves  we  need  no  persuading 
that  Mr.  Stephens'  humour  is  to  our  liking,  his  writing  entrancing 
to  us,  his  originality  beyond  question." 

THE    CROCK    OF    GOLD. 

Crown  8vo.     $s.  net. 

Times. — "  It  is  crammed  full  of  life  and  beauty  .  .  .  this  de- 
licious, fantastical,  amorphous,  inspired  medley  of  topsy-turvydom." 

Punch. — "A  fairy  fantasy,  elvish,  grotesque,  realistic,  allegorical, 
humorous,  satirical,  idealistic,  and  poetical  by  turns  .  .  .  and  very 
beautiful." 

Pall  Mall  Gazette. — "A  wise,  beautiful,  and  humorous  book.  .  .  . 
If  you  could  have  given  Sterne  a  soul  and  made  him  a  poet  he 
might  have  produced  The  Crock  of  Gold." 

THE   CHARWOMAN'S   DAUGHTER. 

Crown   8vo.     31.  6d.  net. 

Punch. — "A  little  gem.  ...  It  is  a  very  long  time  indeed  since 
we  read  such  a  human,  satisfying  book.  Every  page  contains 
some  happy  phrase  or  illuminating  piece  of  character-drawing." 

Evening  Standard. — "Will  give  many  honest  English  men  and 
women  delight  of  a  kind  very  few  novelists  give  them  to-day." 

Daily  Ne%vs  and  Leader. — "  Mary  is  surely  one  of  the  most 
gracious  figures  of  girlhood  in  modern  fiction.  She  is  made  out 
of  music  and  flowers.  ...  A  wholly  delightful  and  buoyant 
book." 


RECENT   FICTION 


THE  INSIDE  OF  THE  CUP. 

By    WINSTON    CHURCHILL.     With    Illus- 
trations.    Extra  crown  8vo.     6s. 

Daily  Chronicle. — "Calculated  to  arouse  much  thought  and  great 
argument  among  those  who  read  it.  .  .  .  One's  feeling  about  the 
whole  story  is  that  it  is  in  some  way  magnificent,  with  many  a 
fine  and  noble  personality  coming  into  it,  both  men  and  women." 

Times. — "Mr.  Churchill  has  written  a  tine  and  moving  book." 

Truth. — "This  brilliant  novel.  ...  In  a  word,  The  Inside  of 
the  Cup  is  a  sign  of  the  times,  and  a  book  tor  the  times  which 
everyone  should  read." 

World. — "It  is  a  work  which  can  be  argued  over  ad  infinitum, 
and  it  is  one  which  is  as  finely  conceived  as  it  is  admirably  worked 
out.  .  .  .  This  is  a  book  for  clergy  and  laity  alike  to  read,  mark, 
and  learn." 


A  PRISONER  IN  FAIRYLAND.     (The 

BOOK    THAT    "  U  NCLE    PAUL  "    WROTE.) 

By     ALGERNON     BLACKWOOD.       Extra 
crown  8vo.     bs. 

Globe. — "A  story  in  many  ways  the  most  beautiful  of  all  Mr. 
Blackwood's  remarkable  achievements,  and  one  which  leaves 
behind  it  a  bright,  ineffaceable  memory,  and  a  desire  to  acquire 
something  of  its  joyousness." 

Westminster  Gazette. — "A  book  which  every  lover  of  Mr.  Black- 
wood's unique  work  will  hail  with  enthusiasm  and  close  with 
satisfaction." 

Daily  Express. — "A  supremely  beautiful  book.  Every  now  and 
again  one  reads  a  book  that  gives  one  complete  joy,  and  then 
analysis  and  summary  become  impossible,  and  all  the  reviewer  can 
do  is  to  express  his  gratitude,  and  to  implore  his  readers  to  buy  or 
borrow  the  book  and  read  it  for  themselves." 

Country  Life. — "  Mr.  Algernon  Blackwood  has  now  produced  the 
eagerly  anticipated  'book  that  "Uncle  Paul"  wrote,'  and  it  is 
the  finest  he  has  yet  given  us  .  .  .  this  delicate  and  exquisite 
phantasy." 


RECENT    FICTION 


THE  CUSTOM  OF  THE  COUNTRY 

By    EDITH    WHARTON.     Extra  crown  8vo 
6s. 

Daily  Graphic. — "  It  only  remains  to  ask  if  Mrs.  Wharton  has 
made  the  narrative  interesting.  She  has  made  it  enthralling. 
We  watch  Undine  with  a  fearful  fascination.  .  .  .  Most  brilliant 
novel." 

Daily  Express. — "  Mrs.  W7harton  writes  with  splendid  force  and 
humour.     Her  book  grips,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end." 

Standard. — "  We  read  this  book  of  close  on  600  pages  at  a 
sitting.  Mrs.  Wharton's  literary  skill  is  of  a  high  order.  Her 
prose  is  a  delight  to  read,  and  her  manner  captivates  us." 

Globe. — "  Mrs.  Wharton  has  written  a  fine  novel,  or  rather,  she 
has  not  so  much  written  a  fine  novel  as  handled  finely  a  big 
theme.  It  is  surely  too  late  in  the  day  to  say  that  no  other  woman 
who  writes  in  English  writes  so  well." 


A    LAD    OF    KENT. 

By  HERBERT  HARRISON.    Illustrated.    Extra 
crown  8vo.     6s. 

Athenceum. — "Mr.  Harrison  supplies  full  measure  of  adventures, 
both  serious  and  comic,  deftly  intermingled,  and  he  introduces  to 
us  a  variegated  crowd  of  most  life-like  and  interesting  personages 
who  play  vivid  parts  in  a  vivid  and  convincing  manner.  .  .  .  We 
congratulate  the  author  on  an  excellent  and  stirring  tale  of  a  most 
interesting  epoch." 

Globe. — "A  fine  story,  grave  and  gay  by  turns,  and  always 
interesting." 

The  Times. — "  What  lends  a  special  flavour  and  character  to  the 
tale  is  its  continual  variety.  ...  A  tale  which  will  appeal  alike 
to  the  manhood  in  almost  any  boy  and  to  the  spirit  of  boyhood 
persistent  in  most  men." 


RECENT    FICTION 

BEHIND  THE  SCENES  IN  THE 
SCHOOLROOM.  Being  the  Experi- 
ences of  A  Young  Governess. 

By  FLORENCE  MONTGOMERY,  Author  of 
"  Misunderstood."     Extra  crown  8vo.     6s. 

Daily  Chronicle. — "  Full  of  the  charm  of  Misunderstood." 
Daily    Telegraph. — "  Miss   Montgomery    is   thoroughly   interested 
in  her  subject,  and  writes  a  thoughtful,  individual  story." 

Liverpool  Daily  Post. — "Miss  Montgomery's  simple  charm  of 
diction  and  of  construction  is  too  well  known  to  the  majority  of 
readers  to  require  comment,  and  it  will  be  sufficient  to  say  of  her 
present  story  that  it  is  just  as  attractive  as  Misunderstood,  and 
contains  exactly  the  same  qualities." 

Review  of  Reviews. — "A  picture  of  the  ups  and  downs  of  the  life 
of  a  governess  and  the  troubles  of  her  little  charges,  intermingled 
with  a  pleasantly  romantic  love  story." 

JOAN'S  GREEN  YEAR:  Letters  from 
the  Manor  Farm  to  her  Brother  in  India. 

By  E.  L.  DOON.     Extra  crown  8vo.     6s. 

Bookman. — "The  story  told  in  this  series  of  letters  has  the 
supreme  merits  of  simplicity  and  naturalness,  and  the  letters  also 
abound  in  pleasant  anecdotes  and  in  happy  turns  of  phrase.  We 
congratulate  Miss  Doon  upon  a  very  likeable  piece  of  work." 

Westminster  Gazette. — "It  touches  many  interests,  and  has 
points  in  it  which  will  appeal  to  almost  every  reader." 

T.  P.'s  Weekly. — "There  is  real  love  of  the  country  and  under- 
standing of  it  in  every  page." 

Birmingham  Post. — "The  book  is  written  with  great  taste  and 
charm,  and  breathes  a  delightful  sense  of  quiet  humour,  sanity  of 
outlook,  and  a  fine  spirit  of  camaraderie." 

LONDON  :    MACMILLAN    AND    CO.,    LTD. 

A".  Ciav  and  Sons,  Ltd.,  Brunswick  St.,  S.E. 


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